


All of the Moments of the Spasky Family

by Callie_Girl



Series: All of the moments of... [5]
Category: The 39 Clues - Various Authors
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, all of the moments of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie_Girl/pseuds/Callie_Girl
Summary: All of the times they so much as mention any member of the Spasky family in the 39 Clues series.
Series: All of the moments of... [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948549
Kudos: 5





	1. Maze of Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, at this point, I'm just doing this because I'm depressed and have no motivation to write but want to accomplish something.

He recognized a few more relatives: Alistair Oh, the old Korean dude with the diamond-tipped walking stick who always insisted they call him Uncle; the Russian lady Irina Spasky, who had a twitch in one eye so everybody called her Blinky behind her back; the Starling triplets — Ned, Ted, and Sinead, who looked like part of a cloned Ivy League lacrosse team. Even that kid from television was there: Jonah Wizard. He stood to one side, getting his picture taken with a bunch of girls, and there was a line of people waiting to talk to him. He was dressed just like on TV, with lots of silver chains and bracelets, ripped jeans, and a black muscle shirt (which was kind of stupid, since he didn’t have any muscles). An older African-American guy in a business suit stood behind him, punching notes in a BlackBerry. Probably Jonah’s dad. Dan had heard that Jonah Wizard was related to the Cahills, but he’d never seen him in person before. He wondered if he should get an autograph for his collection.

Dan noticed Ian and Natalie Kabra exchange a meaningful look. Irina Spasky whispered something in Alistair Oh’s ear, but most of the other spectators looked as confused as Dan felt.

More confused shouting broke out. Irina Spasky stood up and yelled, “Silence! I wish to hear!”

Amy felt heartsick. Arguments were breaking out all over the room. The Holts looked like they were conducting a combat exercise. Sinead Starling was holding her brothers, Ned and Ted, apart so they wouldn’t strangle each other. Irina Spasky was talking in rapid-fire Russian to that kid from the reality TV show, Jonah Wizard, and his dad, but from the way they were staring back at her, it was obvious they didn’t speak Russian. Angry voices filled the Great Hall. It was like they were tearing up Grace bit by bit, squabbling over her inheritance. They didn’t care at all that Amy’s grandmother had just passed away.

“Da,” Irina Spasky said. “I, also, shall play this game. I work alone.”

Irina Spasky folded her clue, stuck it in her purse, and walked out the door.

Alistair Oh frowned. “It seems Cousin Irina has an idea.”

A mile away in Copley Square, Irina Spasky — code name Team Five — was worrying about her poison. She had loaded her fingernail injectors with the usual mixture, but she feared it would not be enough for this meeting.

Back in the Cold War, she and her KGB colleagues used poison-injecting umbrellas, or spray painted toxins on toilet seats. Those were the good old days! Now Irina worked by herself, so she had to keep things simple. The needles extended when she bent back her fingers at the first joint. They were almost impossible to see and caused only a tiny pinprick sensation. The poison would leave her victims very sick, perhaps paralyzed, for many days — enough to give Irina a good head start in the search. Best of all, the poison was completely untraceable and had no antidote.

Unfortunately, it was slow-acting. Her victims might not show symptoms for eight hours or more. If she needed to incapacitate her enemies quickly, she would have to rely on other means. Ian and Natalie Kabra were not to be underestimated. Back when they were ten and seven, perhaps Irina could’ve overpowered them. Now they were fourteen and eleven … a very different story indeed.

She wandered Copley Square, waiting to spot them. They had agreed on standard antisurveillance tactics, only setting a general area and time for their rendezvous. The storm clouds had cleared.

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, which Irina hated. All this sunshine and flowers and children playing — bah. She preferred a steel-gray winter in St. Petersburg, a much better climate for espionage.

She bought a coffee from a street kiosk, then spotted Ian and Natalie across the plaza, walking in front of Trinity Church. Their eyes met hers briefly and they kept walking.

Irina’s move. She followed them at a distance, checking to see if they had grown a “tail” — any surveillance, any followers, any possible angles for photographers. After fifteen minutes, she saw nothing. She waited for them to turn and see her.

As soon as they did, Irina turned and walked off. The game reversed. She led them across the plaza, toward the library, knowing they would be watching for tails on her. If they saw anything, Ian and Natalie would disappear. The meeting would be aborted.

After fifteen minutes, Irina changed course and noticed the Kabras across Boylston Street, still shadowing her. This meant she was clean. No surveillance. The children turned toward the Copley Plaza Hotel, and Irina followed.

They met in the busy lobby, where neither party could ambush the other.

Natalie and Ian looked much too relaxed, sitting across from each other on overstuffed sofas. The little brats had changed out of their funeral suits — Ian wore a sky-blue polo shirt, beige trousers, and tasseled loafers; Natalie wore a white linen dress that showed off her coffee skin. Their eyes glittered like amber. They were so lovely they made heads turn, which was not a good thing for a secret meeting.

“You attract too much attention,” Irina scolded. “You should be uglier.”

Natalie laughed. “Is that what keeps you alive, dear cousin?”

Irina wanted to scratch the young whelp’s face with her poison fingernails, but she kept her cool. “Insult me as you will. It gets us nowhere.”

“True,” Ian said. “We have a mutual problem. Please, sit.”

Irina considered. She would have to sit next to either Ian or Natalie, and neither was safe. She chose the young girl. Perhaps she would be easier to overwhelm if it came to that. Natalie smiled and made room for her on the sofa.

“Have you considered our proposal?” Ian asked.

Irina had thought of nothing else since the text message came two hours ago on her cell phone, encrypted in an algorithmic code used only by the Lucians.

She nodded. “You have come to the same conclusion as I. The second clue is not in Boston.”

“Exactly,” Ian said. “We’ve told our parents to charter us a private jet. We’ll be off within the hour.”

Chartering a private jet, Irina thought resentfully. She knew the Kabras’ parents from the old days. They were internationally known art collectors. Once they had been dangerous people, important people within the Lucian branch. Now they were retired in London and did nothing but dote upon their children. They let Ian and Natalie do all the traveling, writing them blank checks as needed.

What did these brats care about the thirty-nine clues? This was just another adventure to them. Irina had her own reasons for hunting the treasure — much more personal reasons. The Kabras were too rich, too smart, too proud. Someday, Irina would change that.

“So,” Irina said, “where will you go?”

Ian sat forward and laced his hands. He didn’t look fourteen years old. When he smiled, he looked evil enough to be an adult. “You know it’s about Benjamin Franklin.”

“Yes.”

“Then you know where we’re going, and you know what we’re after.”

“You also know,” Natalie purred, “that we can’t allow the secret to fall into anyone else’s hands. As Lucians, we should work together. You should set the trap.”

Irina’s eye twitched, the way it did when she was nervous. She hated that it did this, but she could not stop it. “You could set the trap yourselves,” she said.

Natalie shook her head. “They would suspect us. You, on the other hand, can lure them to their doom.”

Irina hesitated, trying to see a flaw in the plan. “What is in this for me?”

“They’re our biggest threat,” Ian pointed out. “They may not realize it yet, but they will in time. We have to eliminate them quickly. It’ll benefit all of us. Besides, you’ll have the Lucian stronghold at your disposal. Afterwards, there will be time to fight each other. Now, we must destroy our competition.”

“And the Madrigals?” Irina asked.

She thought she saw a ripple of nervousness cross Ian’s face, but it passed quickly. “One enemy at a time, cousin.”

Irina hated to admit it, but the boy had a point. She examined her fingernails, casually making sure that each of her poison needles was primed and ready.

“Does it seem odd to you,” she asked slowly, “that the Lucian database contains so little about Franklin?” She knew very well they would have logged into the branch’s mainframe, just as she had done.

Annoyance flickered in Ian’s eyes. “There should have been more, it’s true. Apparently, Franklin was hiding something … even from his kin.”

Natalie smiled coldly at her brother. “A Lucian who doesn’t trust his kin — imagine that.”

Ian waved her comment aside. “Complaining about it will change nothing. We need to deal with Amy and Dan. Cousin Irina, do we have a deal?”

The hotel doors opened. A heavyset man in a brown suit strode through, heading for the front desk. He seemed out of place, possibly a security guard or an undercover policeman. It might have nothing to do with them, but Irina couldn’t be sure.

They had sat here too long. Meeting any longer would be dangerous.

“Very well,” Irina said. “I shall prepare the trap.”

Natalie and Ian rose.

Irina felt relieved and perhaps flattered, too. The Kabras needed her help. She was, after all, much older and wiser. “I am glad we came to an arrangement,” she said, feeling generous. “I did not wish to hurt you.”

“Oh, we’re glad, too,” Ian promised. “Natalie, I believe it’s safe now.”

Irina frowned, not understanding. Then she looked at Natalie — that pretty little girl who seemed so harmless in her white dress — and realized the young she-devil had a tiny silver dart gun cupped in her hand, not two inches from Irina’s chest. Irina’s heart skipped a beat. She had used such guns herself. The darts could carry poisons far worse than she dared keep in her fingernails.

Natalie smiled prettily, keeping the dart gun aimed and ready. “It was so good to see you, Irina.”

“Indeed,” Ian said smugly. “I’d shake your hand, cousin, but I’d hate to ruin your special manicure. Do let us know when Amy and Dan are eliminated, won’t you?

Half a block down, a woman in a red shawl was walking briskly. Something was tucked under her arm — something thin, square, red, and white.

Dan’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that—”

“Irina Spasky,” Amy said. “And she’s got our Poor Richard’s Almanack. Follow that Russian!”

Dan was tempted to stop about twenty times as they trailed Irina Spasky down the Rue de Rivoli. (He wondered if that meant “the Street of Ravioli,” but he decided Amy would laugh at him if he asked.) A few times he wanted to check stuff out — like the cool glass pyramid at the Louvre and the street performers who were juggling fire outside the Tuileries garden. There was also a vendor selling crème glacée, and Dan was pretty sure that meant ice cream. Mostly, though, he wanted to stop because his feet hurt.

“Is she ever going to take a break?” he complained.

Amy didn’t seem to be getting tired at all. “Does it seem odd to you that we happened to find Irina Spasky out of ten million people in Paris?”

“Maybe the other 9.99 million aren’t wearing bright red scarves!”

“She was walking down a major street, like she wanted to be spotted.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Dan asked. “How could she know we’d find her? And she hasn’t looked back once. She doesn’t know we’re here.”

But as he said that, Dan remembered television shows he’d seen about spies — how they could tail somebody without ever being seen, or appear “accidentally” in a victim’s line of sight and lure them into a trap. Could Irina have been waiting for them at the airport? Could she have seen them get in the limo with Jonah and somehow gotten ahead of them?

“Look,” Amy said, “she’s turning!”

Irina crossed the avenue and disappeared down a flight of steps.

“The Métro,” Amy said. “She’s taking the subway.”

They lost time figuring out how to use euro coins in the machines to get tickets, but when they got down the steps Irina was still there — standing on one of the platforms with the tattered almanac tucked under her arm. The train was just arriving. Dan was sure Irina was going to try one of those lastminute switches, so they waited until the train’s doors were closing, but Irina stayed on board. Amy and Dan jumped on, too, and the train pulled away from the station.

They changed trains twice in a really short time. Even with Irina in a bright red shawl, it was hard to keep up with her.

“I don’t get it,” Amy said. “Now she’s moving faster, like she’s trying to lose us.”

Dan was daydreaming about crème glacée. The lasagna he’d had on the plane was long gone, and his stomach felt like it was trying to chew through his shirt.

Finally, after the third train, Irina exited onto the platform.

Amy gripped Dan’s arm and pointed to a sign on the station wall.

“Passy,” she said.

“So?”

“This is the neighborhood where Benjamin Franklin lived.”

“Well, come on!” Dan said. “Red Riding Hood’s getting away.”

Irina walked like her dress was on fire. They had to jog to keep up. Amy tripped over a bucket of flowers and a Parisian cursed at her.

“Sorry!” Amy called back.

They turned onto a tree-lined street with ancient-looking mansions. Halfway up the block, a purple van was parked crookedly. It was painted with pictures of balloons and clown faces, and the sign read CRÈME GLACÉE. Dan’s spirits lifted. Maybe he could just grab a quick triple-scoop of cherry vanilla to go. But as they got closer, he saw that the van was shut. The windshield was covered from the inside with a silver screen. It was a conspiracy, Dan decided. The entire city of Paris was trying to starve him.

At the end of the block, Irina crossed the street and ducked inside a wrought-iron gate. She walked up to a large marble building that looked like an embassy or something. Dan hid behind a gatepost and watched as Irina punched a security code and went inside.

“I don’t get it,” Dan whispered. “Irina must be a Lucian. Benjamin Franklin was a Lucian. Does that mean Franklin was one of the bad guys?”

They poked their heads out to make sure the hall was clear, then sneaked out of the arsenal and deeper into the building. At the end of the hallway was another balcony, this one looking down on a big circular room. What Dan saw below reminded him of a military command center. There were computers along the walls, and in the middle of the room was a conference table that seemed to be one huge flat screen TV. Irina Spasky was alone, leaning over the tabletop. Stacks of papers and folders sat next to her. She was punching commands on the tabletop, making images zoom or shrink. She was looking at a satellite map of the city.

Dan didn’t dare speak, but he locked eyes with Amy.

 _I want one of those,_ he told her.

Amy’s expression said _Shut up!_

They crouched behind the balcony rail and watched as Irina commanded the map to zoom in on different locations. She checked the Poor Richard’s Almanack book, then got out a pad of paper and jotted something down. She snatched up the book and the pad and hurried out of the room — back toward the main entrance.

“Already done.” Then Dan noticed something else — a photograph sitting on top of Irina Spasky’s files. He picked it up and felt sick to his stomach.

She wondered how Irina Spasky had gotten the book from Uncle Alistair, and why she would be interested in the Île StLouis. It felt like a trap, but it was Amy’s only lead — or at least, the only lead she wanted to think about. Her mother’s note in the Poor Richard’s Almanack — the Maze of Bones — still gave her chills.

“Accidentally?” Dan said. “Irina lured us here on purpose!”

Amy knew he was probably right, but she didn’t want to think about it … or what might happen next. They had to get out. She swept her arms around the edges of their pit, but it was just that— a pit. No side tunnels, no exits except for straight up, and they’d fallen over ten feet. It was a miracle they hadn’t broken any bones.

“‘Here lie Amy and Dan Cahill,’” she translated, “‘who stuck their noses into the wrong people’s business.’”

“It was Irina Spasky’s fault!” Dan said. “She tricked us into going there. The whole thing was a setup.”

“Hello, my dear children.” Uncle Alistair smiled down at them. He looked like a raccoon with his two black eyes. Standing next to him was Irina Spasky.

Amy’s heart crawled into her throat. “You … you and her?”

“Now, now,” the old man said. “I saved your life in the Catacombs. I told you alliances are important. I’m simply making friends where I can. I suggest you hand over that vial, my dear. I would hate for Cousin Irina to use her persuasive techniques.”

Irina extended her fingernails. A tiny needle sprouted from each one.

Amy turned to run, but her eyes widened. Something was hurtling toward her from the street — a large white cube.

“Duck!” she yelled. Nellie, Dan, and she hit the floor as a crate of ice cream sailed over their heads. The crate must’ve been from the back of the freezer, because it crashed into Alistair and Irina like a block of cement and knocked them both flat.

Amy looked out into the rain. She spotted Uncle Alistair hobbling away down a side street, a Fudgesicle stuck to the back of his cherry-red suit. Irina Spasky staggered out the front of the church, saw the police, and broke into a run.

“Arrêtez!” a policeman cried, and two of them started after her. Nellie was standing on the sidewalk with a few more officers. She was yelling frantically in French, pointing to the church.


	2. One False Note

There in the hall stood Irina Spasky, a Russian Cahill cousin. Another competitor in the search for the 39 Clues, and no joke. Irina was rumored to be an ex-KGB agent, ruthless, efficient, and potentially deadly.

She got right to the point. “Your nanny has been detained by Viennese authorities.”

Dan bristled. “How do you know that?”

Irina’s face contorted into the closest she ever came to a smile. “I have accompanied weapons-grade plutonium through a secret tunnel under the Berlin Wall. I believe I am capable of looking through the window of a police car. But if you do not need my help—”

Amy seized on this. “You can help Nellie? How?”

Irina looked annoyed. “What is it your business, so long as she is returned to you?”

“It’s not our business at all!” Amy agreed swiftly. “Just get her out! Thank you!”

“I require better thanks than just words. Shall we say the item you removed from the hotel room of our obnoxious cousin Jonah Wizard?”

“No deal!” Dan barked.

“A word of advice,” Irina told Amy. “You should not let this impetuous little boy speak for you. Perhaps you should not let him speak at all. In the KGB, we found duct tape to be both effective and affordable.”

Amy hung her head. They had risked their lives to get the diary. Not to mention the fact that Irina wanting it only proved their suspicion that it was important. But they couldn’t let Nellie go to jail for them. If their Russian cousin could free her, they had no choice but to make the deal.

“I’ll get it for you,” Amy agreed sadly.

“ _I’ll_ get it,” sighed Dan.

Amy watched in surprise as her brother went to her backpack on the nightstand. But instead of taking out the Nannerl diary, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced the Jonah Wizard action figure he had taken from suite 1600.

He’s trying to give her the wrong thing! Amy struggled to contain her terror as Dan offered the toy to Irina.

The ex-KGB agent made no move to accept it. “A child’s plaything? You are not serious.”

Dan shrugged. “You asked for what we took out of Jonah’s room. This is it.”

Don’t try it! Amy wanted to scream. What if Irina knows what she’s looking for? She stared imploringly at her brother.

He didn’t pick up on the message. “It only seems like an action figure,” he told Irina. “Check this out.” He held the toy so that the tiny hand wrapped around her little finger and pressed the button on Jonah’s back to activate the kung fu grip.

The former spy did not utter a sound, but a vein on her forehead stood out and bulged as if it were about to explode. Her eyes fell eagerly upon the website code illuminated at the back of Jonah’s headband.

“See?” asked Dan. “It’s—”

“There is no need for small talk in a business transaction.” She snatched the figure from Dan and regarded it with newfound respect. “We had a similar device in the KGB,” she admitted, examining her rapidly swelling pinkie. “Crude but effective. Expect your nanny shortly.” And she was gone as quickly as she had appeared.

Amy was shaking as she wheeled on her brother. “I can’t believe you did that! What if Irina knew about the diary?”

“She didn’t,” Dan retorted.

“But she could have! Or the code! She might have seen the commercial about the screen saver!”

He was serene. “I doubt Irina watches much Cartoon Network.”

“You ripped off a Russian spy! You could have gotten Nellie killed, and maybe us, too!”

Dan was outraged. “Why are you yelling at me about what didn’t happen? In case you haven’t noticed, I did something good! We’ve still got the diary, and Irina is going to spring Nellie. Do you think it’ll be a real prison break? Too bad we can’t watch.”

Amy looked grim. “I honestly don’t want to think about what a KGB agent is capable of. Whatever she can do to the Viennese police she can turn on us at any moment.”

He couldn’t hold back a grin. “But right now, tonight, we got the better of her. That’s something to celebrate!”

“Who’s celebrating?” came a weary voice from the doorway.

“Nellie!” Amy bounded over and threw her arms around the au pair. She took a step back, frowning. “How did Irina get you out so fast? She just left five minutes ago.”

“Nobody got me out,” Nellie replied. “They just let me go. They think I’m a deranged Jonah Wizard fan. Apparently, the hotel’s full of them. A couple of idiots actually jumped off the front balcony. Can you picture that?”

“In Technicolor,” Amy said bitterly.

“That low-down KGB reject!” Dan fumed. “I can’t believe she cheated me — right when I was in the middle of cheating her!”

“We got the diary,” Amy told her excitedly. “Let’s get some sleep, and we can look at it tomorrow morning. We know the Holts, Irina, and Jonah are just a heartbeat away from us. We’ve got to move fast if we’re going to stay ahead.”

Dan let out a whoop. “Can’t wait to see the look on the Cobras’ faces when we trot out all thirty-nine clues and they’re still searching for number two! Or Irina; this time I’m going to hire a real black belt to do the kung fu grip on her. And the Holts — hmm, better hire a whole army of black belts—”

“Or Irina,” Amy reasoned. “This would be kid stuff for the KGB. It could be any of them — even Mr. McIntyre. Remember — he had Saladin while we were in Paris.”

“I hate Lucians,” Dan hissed. “That’s the Cobras’ branch. Irina, too — remember when she lured us into that weird command center in Paris?”

So it wasn’t the Madrigals, but this was nearly as bad. Of all the other teams, the Kabras were the most ruthless. Like Irina Spasky, they were Lucians — the cold-blooded and conniving branch of the Cahill family.

But those great Cahills of the past were exactly that — history. They were long dead and buried. Who were the Cahills of today? Jonah. The Holts. Uncle Alistair. The Kabras. Irina. Doublecrossers, thugs, con artists, and thieves. People who smiled and called you cousin while reaching around to put the knife between your shoulder blades.

The Kabras had money; the Holts had muscle; Irina had guile and training; Alistair had experience; and Jonah had fame. Amy and Dan Cahill had their wits and little else. Yet only they had uncovered the second clue.

The sight of the familiar figure was enough to unlock Amy’s loudest outdoor voice. “IRINA!” she blurted out.

There was no mistaking Irina Spasky — the stiff military bearing, the bladelike motion of the shoulders as she walked. Irina was another of the Cahill family bent on finding the 39 Clues. Like Ian and Natalie, she was ruthless. Unlike Ian and Natalie, she had been trained in espionage by the KGB.

Irina did not turn. She showed no outward signs of hearing Amy, aside from a quickening of her step. Then she disappeared into the throng as if she’d never been there.

“Stop her!” Dan sprinted forward, nearly colliding with a rather sour-looking man in a wheelchair.

“Polizia!” the man shouted, lifting his cane as if to whack Dan over the head.

Dan ducked. Amy pulled him away, trying to keep an eye on Irina. They plowed forward, elbowing their way around passengers.

When they emerged into a less crowded area near the end of the terminal, Irina was nowhere to be seen. “She’s gone,” Dan said.

“I — I don’t believe this,” Amy said, catching her breath. “She was working with Ian and Natalie. They sabotaged us together.”

“Are we sure that was her?” Dan asked. “I mean, how would Irina manage to get that uniform?”

“Assaulted,” Amy said. “She must have been the flight supervisor, Dan! Irina knocked her out and took her uniform.”

Amy fought the urge to just collapse and cry. Right there in the middle of the terminal. Everything was going wrong. It had been a seven-year string of bad luck, ever since their parents died in that house fire. How were Amy and Dan supposed to do this alone? The Kabras had money. Their parents supported them. Plus, they were working with Irina. The Holts were a whole family. Jonah Wizard had his dad planning every moment of his life. It was Amy and Dan against … families. Teams. Generations. They didn’t stand a chance.


	3. The Sword Thief

The sight of the familiar figure was enough to unlock Amy’s loudest outdoor voice. “IRINA!” she blurted out.

There was no mistaking Irina Spasky — the stiff military bearing, the bladelike motion of the shoulders as she walked. Irina was another of the Cahill family bent on finding the 39 Clues. Like Ian and Natalie, she was ruthless. Unlike Ian and Natalie, she had been trained in espionage by the KGB. Irina did not turn. She showed no outward signs of hearing Amy, aside from a quickening of her step.

Then she disappeared into the throng as if she’d never been there.

“Stop her!” Dan sprinted forward, nearly colliding with a rather sour-looking man in a wheelchair.

“Polizia!” the man shouted, lifting his cane as if to whack Dan over the head.

Dan ducked. Amy pulled him away, trying to keep an eye on Irina. They plowed forward, elbowing their way around passengers.

When they emerged into a less crowded area near the end of the terminal, Irina was nowhere to be seen. “She’s gone,” Dan said.

“I — I don’t believe this,” Amy said, catching her breath. “She was working with Ian and Natalie. They sabotaged us together.”

“Are we sure that was her?” Dan asked. “I mean, how would Irina manage to get that uniform?”

“Assaulted,” Amy said. “She must have been the flight supervisor, Dan! Irina knocked her out and took her uniform.”

Amy fought the urge to just collapse and cry. Right there in the middle of the terminal. Everything was going wrong. It had been a seven-year string of bad luck, ever since their parents died in that house fire. How were Amy and Dan supposed to do this alone? The Kabras had money. Their parents supported them. Plus, they were working with Irina. The Holts were a whole family. Jonah Wizard had his dad planning every moment of his life. It was Amy and Dan against … families. Teams. Generations. They didn’t stand a chance.

“So you were behind all this, huh?” Dan said. “With the Kabras and Irina. And the bomb scare. You’re working with them now.”

Alistair was straining to hear the phone. “This is who?” he said, gesturing for everyone to be quiet. “Irina?”

Amy groaned.

“Yes, they did get away,” Alistair said loudly. “They are with me, quite safe and sound … what? Did you say Japan?” Alistair let out a big laugh. “Oh, dear. You thought … you really believed that Dan and Amy didn’t let the Kabra children take their tickets— that they didn’t purposefully direct their babysitter to board the plane as a decoy … oh, my. Oh, that is rich … no no no, Irina…. What? You’re breaking up. Perhaps you heard me wrong. Yes, OF COURSE THE CAHILLS ARE HEADED TO JAPAN. THAT IS EXACTLY RIGHT. Good-bye, dear.”

“Um … what was that all about?” Dan said.

Alistair smiled. “I know Irina quite well. At this moment she is convinced you tricked the Kabras, not the other way around. And trust me, after what I just said, the last place in the world she suspects you to be going is Japan….”

“Wait. You think you convinced her?” Dan said. “Uh, no offense, but that sounded pretty lame to me.”

“I may be a failure in some things in my life, but I am a very quick study of people,” Alistair replied. “I know exactly what works with Irina Spasky.”

“Don’t … be too sure …” she said.

The pilot’s voice, in Russian, called for clearance and quickly got it.

Banking to the right, the jet swooped low toward a small airport on the outskirts of Moscow. In the dry, parched landscape, the landing strip was a ghostly gray. The lone passenger’s fingers gripped the armrest as the wheels of the plane bumped against the ground. These landings were always rougher than she expected.

As the jet slowed, taxiing on the tarmac, she eyed the sleek silver Cessna being refueled. An impressive piece of machinery.

“Stop here,” Irina said.

She could see the old man now, limping with his walking stick. He was dressed crisply and correctly, as always. The bowler and sunglasses gave that subtle touch of refinement. Irina liked a traditional man, not a slave to fashion. His clothes seemed a bit tight today, but during these stressful times, who hadn’t put on weight?

A moment later, the little devils appeared, bundled in down coats and hats. Protected as always — first by Grace Cahill, now by the uncle. Why he had sold his soul to those two, she could never figure out. Someday he would learn.

 _They will betray you, Alistair,_ she thought, _unless you betray them first._

She smiled. Thoughts of human weakness always picked up her spirits after a long trip. Back in her KGB days, betrayal came in so many colorful varieties — blackmail, white lies, red tape, yellow journalism.

 _Teams — paahh!_ she thought. Teams were of no use in discovering the 39 Clues. With a secret of this much power, jealousies were inevitable and no alliances would survive. Irina would find the Clues by herself. Without lazy rich kids, over-the-hill taco tycoons, or dewy-eyed orphans. To them, the amateurs, this was a mysterious game. Not to Irina. The spoils, she knew, deserved to go to the one who had lost the most. To the lone wolf seeking justice. And vengeance.

Across the runway, the trio climbed into the jet. Irina leaned forward, glancing at her cell phone, which still showed the GPS coordinates and recipient of her last call: OH, ALISTAIR.

“‘Oh, Alistair,’ indeed,” she said under her breath. “You are making this chase too easy for me …”

“Shto?” said her pilot.

“Follow them, Alexander.”

He pulled the gearshift and the plane’s engine hummed to life. Ahead of them, the Cessna was beginning to position for takeoff. Now she would see if he was telling the truth about their ultimate destination.

She grinned. No one ever put anything over on Irina Spasky.

Alistair’s cell phone rang. “Hello …? Yes … ah, bravo, Serge. She what? Well, imagine that — ha! Very good. And thank you so much. Da. Do svidanya!” He put the phone away and turned to Dan and Amy. “Serge is safely in Siberia with his two children. Irina completely fell for the disguise. She thought they were we. When she realized she’d been had, she began cursing with words that embarrassed even Serge.”

“Yes!” Dan whooped, slapping high fives to his sister and uncle.

“I have you to thank, Amy,” Alistair said, beaming. “How stupid of me not to realize Irina could have tracked us with the cell phone GPS.”

“It is the name of the park, and that building is the Central Branch of the Tokyo Metropolitan Library,” Alistair explained, as he paid the driver and climbed out. “We have only limited time before Irina catches on. Because we’ve detached our GPS devices, it is essential that we stay close together. And set your phones to ‘vibrate’ while in the library.”

The tourist in the I WANT MY MUMMY T-shirt drifted closer to Dan. She pushed her white sunglasses down her nose. Some small alarm chimed inside Amy. A man in a straw hat blocked her view, and she dodged to one side.

The tourist bent her index finger back at the first joint, as if she had a cramp. The hot sun glinted on something protruding from her nail.

“Dan!” Amy screamed. The music and the calls of the shopkeepers — Five dollars, five dollars! — drowned her out. She darted past a man balancing a dozen neon-colored soccer balls in a net.

The hypodermic needle protruded out of the tourist’s clawlike finger. Dan leaned closer to the window….

“Dan!” She screamed the name. In her head. But it came out like a strangled croak.

Amy threw herself forward. At the very last second, she flung out her hand. The needle jammed into the Nefertiti pencil and stuck.

For one swift second, all Amy could do was stare down at the glint of sunlight on metal. In slow motion, a drop of something lethal fell from the tip and hit the dust.

Amy looked into the face of Irina Spasky. Former KGB agent. Spy. Cousin.

Irina’s left eye twitched. “Blin!” She twisted her hand, but the needle remained stuck in the pencil.

The shopkeeper hurried over. “Beautiful lady, it is stuck on you. Here, I have more pencils for you!”

Irina turned on him fiercely. “I don’t want your fancy pencils, shopkeeper of things!”

“And hope we don’t bump into Comrade Irina,” Dan said. “I can skip the family reunion.”

The decision had been easy. It was the living up to it that was hard. In her old life, Amy had thought playing to win was Courtney Catowski spiking a volleyball on her head. Now she knew what competition was really about. Relatives like Irina played for keeps. She’d drug them, kidnap them, even kill them if she had to.

“Russian spy at two o’clock and gaining!” he hissed.

Irina hadn’t seen them yet. She was too busy looking for them. She prowled along the opposite side, peering into shop windows.

On the walls, heavy antique mirrors reflected the scene. Amy saw her own red face, her fluttering hands, the eyes of the patrons … and the door opening. Even the tourist attire and white plastic sunglasses couldn’t disguise the way Irina soldiermarched into the café, as if she were inspecting everyone in it for demerits.

And in exactly three seconds, her gaze would land on them.

Now they were in an even smaller alley that snaked behind the shops. They knew Irina would be out there in a matter of seconds. They dodged a cart piled high with crates and a surprised man sleeping in the sun. Seeing a back door to a shop, they ran through it into a storeroom. It was dark and dusty, and Dan started to wheeze.

“We lost her.”

“For now.” Dan grabbed her elbow. “Amy, look.”

The Lucian branch of the Cahill family had a strategic sense that was amazing. Of course, their powers had dwindled down to the petty, nasty deeds of Ian and Natalie Kabra and the crazy Russian Irina Spasky.

Just then Dan grabbed Amy’s arm. Peering through the window and shading her eyes was Irina.

Theo had noticed their alarm. “Who’s that? Your mother?”

“Someone on our tour. She’s a total pain,” Amy said.

“Always following us,” Dan said. “Is there another way out of here?”

Again they followed Theo through the market, keeping a careful eye out for Irina.


	4. Beyond the Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm using CTRL+F to find the mentions, I have no idea when I cross into the first two chapters of the next book, so there will be some overlap. Sorry.

The tourist in the I WANT MY MUMMY T-shirt drifted closer to Dan. She pushed her white sunglasses down her nose. Some small alarm chimed inside Amy. A man in a straw hat blocked her view, and she dodged to one side.

The tourist bent her index finger back at the first joint, as if she had a cramp. The hot sun glinted on something protruding from her nail.

“Dan!” Amy screamed. The music and the calls of the shopkeepers — Five dollars, five dollars! — drowned her out. She darted past a man balancing a dozen neon-colored soccer balls in a net.

The hypodermic needle protruded out of the tourist’s clawlike finger. Dan leaned closer to the window….

“Dan!” She screamed the name. In her head. But it came out like a strangled croak.

Amy threw herself forward. At the very last second, she flung out her hand. The needle jammed into the Nefertiti pencil and stuck.

For one swift second, all Amy could do was stare down at the glint of sunlight on metal. In slow motion, a drop of something lethal fell from the tip and hit the dust.

Amy looked into the face of Irina Spasky. Former KGB agent. Spy. Cousin.

Irina’s left eye twitched. “Blin!” She twisted her hand, but the needle remained stuck in the pencil.

The shopkeeper hurried over. “Beautiful lady, it is stuck on you. Here, I have more pencils for you!”

Irina turned on him fiercely. “I don’t want your fancy pencils, shopkeeper of things!”

“And hope we don’t bump into Comrade Irina,” Dan said. “I can skip the family reunion.”

The decision had been easy. It was the living up to it that was hard. In her old life, Amy had thought playing to win was Courtney Catowski spiking a volleyball on her head. Now she knew what competition was really about. Relatives like Irina played for keeps. She’d drug them, kidnap them, even kill them if she had to.

“Russian spy at two o’clock and gaining!” he hissed.

Irina hadn’t seen them yet. She was too busy looking for them. She prowled along the opposite side, peering into shop windows.

On the walls, heavy antique mirrors reflected the scene. Amy saw her own red face, her uttering hands, the eyes of the patrons … and the door opening. Even the tourist attire and white plastic sunglasses couldn’t disguise the way Irina soldier-marched into the café, as if she were inspecting everyone in it for demerits.

And in exactly three seconds, her gaze would land on them.

Now they were in an even smaller alley that snaked behind the shops. They knew Irina would be out there in a matter of seconds. They dodged a cart piled high with crates and a surprised man sleeping in the sun. Seeing a back door to a shop, they ran through it into a storeroom. It was dark and dusty, and Dan started to wheeze.

The Lucian branch of the Cahill family had a strategic sense that was amazing. Of course, their powers had dwindled down to the petty, nasty deeds of Ian and Natalie Kabra and the crazy Russian Irina Spasky.

Just then Dan grabbed Amy’s arm. Peering through the window and shading her eyes was Irina.

Theo had noticed their alarm. “Who’s that? Your mother?”

“Someone on our tour. She’s a total pain,” Amy said.

“Always following us,” Dan said. “Is there another way out of here?”

Again they followed Theo through the market, keeping a careful eye out for Irina.

“It _would_ be fun to steal something out from under Comrade Irina’s nose,” Dan admitted.

“The Lucians are all little Napoleons,” Dan grumbled. “Look at Ian and Natalie. Just a couple of smarty-pants with cash. Comrade Irina? A smarty-pants with a tic. Napoleon? He was a smarty-pants with an army.”

But his sister had suddenly turned into a district attorney. “Why hasn’t she helped us? Why? Think about it. We were just lucky that Nellie could come with us. Did Grace expect us to travel around the world by ourselves? Put us in horrible danger? If she loved us, wouldn’t she have wanted to protect us? And what about the branches of the family? She must have known which one we belong to. Everyone else knows their branch. Irina. The Horrible Holt family knows that they belong to the Tomas. Even Natalie and …” Amy gulped. _And he who shall not be named._ “… her brother are Lucians. We’re just … us.”

Irina Spasky was furious at herself. She’d throw herself into a gulag if she could. She deserved icy weather, thin blankets, one rotten turnip for supper. How could she let two amateurs, two children, give her the slip?

And if she had to eat another falafel, she’d gag. You couldn’t find a plain boiled potato anywhere in this crazy country.

Enough with foreign food. Enough with the tourist disguise. Disgustedly, she peeled o the I WANT MY MUMMY Tshirt. Underneath it she wore a plain black T-shirt from the Gap. A little secret known only to her—she did love that American Gap. T-shirts in every color! She sat in a chair in her cheap hotel room and looked down at the crazy trac.

She pressed a finger against her eye, which had started to twitch. She had to think.

She had almost had those kids, twice, and she’d lost them! Was she slipping?

She wanted back on her home ground. She had done some operations in Cairo when she was with the KGB. She didn’t operate well here. The people were too friendly. If you asked someone for directions, they’d walk with you and take you there. And it was so hot. Soon the snows would be covering the steppes in Russia, and here it was well over ninety degrees. She turned the ceiling fan to the highest setting.

She had another pair of brats on her hands — Ian and Natalie Kabra. They were supposed to be working together, and those two know-it-alls kept trying to double-cross her. Now they were in Kyrgyzstan, not answering their cell phones. She’d nally had to resort to calling their parents. And she never liked to talk to the Kabras. They had a history together, and she trusted them even less than their kids.

Those two. Geniuses, but stupid.

Just like their parents.

Their parents … Irina shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory.

She never thought about things she couldn’t change. Things in the past. Except suddenly, here in Cairo, she found herself thinking about Grace Cahill.

It had been years ago that the Lucians had called a top-level meeting to discuss the Grace Cahill problem. They knew Grace had collected many Clues. She seemed to have a genius for it. Even the Lucians had to admit that. She had to be stopped.

It was Irina who had come up with the idea of the alliance. Just a ruse, of course. But it could be a way to get close to Grace, to learn something. Irina had oered herself to be the go-between. The cheese in the mousetrap.

She had met with Grace. Alone, and face-to-face. The conversation had been short. It was clear that Grace hadn’t believed Irina for a moment.

 _You’re trying to play me for a fool, but it is you, Irina, who is the fool,_ Grace had said. _You offer an alliance as a ruse instead of a reality. It is the curse of the Lucians to think they can do everything alone._

Irina had walked away furious. Nobody called her a fool. Nobody.

Talks resumed on the Grace Cahill problem. Plans discussed and discarded. Overtures to others. Shaky alliances agreed to in order to attack a shared problem. All to the good. Except … the plan had been agreed on, and everything had gone wrong. Horribly wrong. Grace’s daughter and son-in-law had lost their lives in that fire.

She would never forget the day of the funeral. Irina knew it was not her place to go, yet she couldn’t stay away. It hadn’t been to gloat, no matter what Grace thought. Grace’s face had been so white and still. The loss of her beloved daughter, her treasured son-in-law, the tragedy of her orphaned grandchildren — she had seemed years older. She moved like an old woman and her eyes held limitless grief. Her hands shook as she tossed roses onto the caskets as they were lowered into the earth.

Irina had wanted to say, _I too have known such grief._

But she didn’t.

She wanted to say, _I walked the streets of Moscow like a ghost. I lost my soul, I lost my heart. She wanted to say, They think that grief is noisy, Grace. They think you’ll cry and wail. But I know that grief is as silent as snow._

_I too have lost a child._

She said none of these things. Her memories were her own. She had sealed them off. The only relic of that time was an eye that twitched when she was under emotional stress.

That day she had blamed Grace for forcing her to recall her memories. She had been brusque and chilly. She had said to Grace, “Fate has no scruples. These things happen.”

 _These things happen,_ she had said to a mother who had just lost a child. She’d heard her own words echo and been shocked at their coldness. She’d wanted to turn back. She’d wanted to show compassion, to be a person with blood in her veins.

But she hadn’t. Instead, she had felt Grace’s contempt run over her, like wave after wave from the cold Bering Strait.

Then, in a flash, contempt turned to suspicion. Irina had not been able to meet Grace’s eyes.

So, to say the least, she had been surprised to be invited to Grace’s funeral. It was only when she knew the other Cahills were invited that she decided to go. All of them in one room. All those ancient hatreds. And Grace as the puppet master. Had Grace set a trap that she couldn’t see? Who was the cheese? Who was the mouse?

_What is your plan, Grace? You always had a plan._

Those grandchildren—why did Grace include them? They couldn’t possibly beat the rest of the Cahills for the Clues. They were years behind in knowledge and training. Too late to catch up. They had been lucky so far. Only that. Two children without anyone to help them, running on fear and loss …

Fear.

Loss.

_The things I’ve known. The things I’ve seen …_

She felt her eye twitching. She clapped a hand to her face, trying to halt the shivering nerve.

The past was past.

Except here she was in Egypt, and everywhere she turned, the very air seemed to whisper that the past was very much alive…

Irina held on to the railing. She couldn’t risk stumbling on these steep stairs. She’d seen the Cahill kids leave the tomb, and she knew something must be here. A small explosive blew the lock, and she was in. Good thing she wasn’t seen. Egyptians could get so touchy about their precious sites.

Irina came to a small antechamber. Those at Egyptian figures — all the same, they were — surrounded her, some with a bird’s head, some with crowns, some holding staffs curved like snakes. She poked her head into the side room.

More of the same.

But the colors …

She wrenched her attention back to the task. More stairs. She descended carefully, glad she was wearing her Nikes. Those Americans knew how to make athletic shoes. She’d give them that. Irina kept her brain on sneakers because she was feeling a bit dizzy. It was a trick she used while on a job if she was tired or exasperated, any time her emotions threatened to overtake her. Concentrate on the trivial.

But why was she feeling overwhelmed?

To her left, a black jackal was offering something to an Egyptian queen person. It must be Nefertari. Irina didn’t know anything about Egyptian art, but somehow she knew this: The beautiful queen was being welcomed to the underworld. She would leave behind her life. Sunshine, river, palace, husband, child. All would be taken from her.

She stepped inside the burial chamber. Here the queen had been laid, between the pillars.

Those at figures, all the same, like cartoons, with their black hair and their opaque eyes. She’d never realized before…

_How beautiful they are!_

These paintings … she imagined artists here, dipping their brushes into pots of gold and green and blue. They weren’t just painting the story of one queen’s death. They were painting every life. Every death. Every joy, every loss.

Dazzled, Irina slowly revolved, drinking it all in.

She felt something odd on her face, something so foreign she didn’t recognize it at first. She felt it like a draft, a coolness in this stale air. A tear. What was happening?

_Grace, what are you doing to me?_

Because she felt her, she felt Grace suddenly, her presence, right here. Her briskness, her intellect, her impatience … her kindness.

 _You were kind to me,_ she told Grace. _When you told me I was a fool, there was no harshness in your tone. There was kindness in your eyes. Who can’t I forgive? You … or myself?_

Irina stared ahead at the wall. Rebirth, she realized. This chamber wasn’t about death at all. It was about rebirth.

Could that happen? After a life lived, after choice after choice after choice led you someplace small and dark … could you … change?

Even in the enveloping dark, Irina was completely oriented.

She heard Dan and Amy inching their way toward her. Her vision was like a cat’s. She could find her way out of a cave miles underground if she had to. As a matter of fact, she already had, thanks to that nasty little job in Marrakech back in the nineties.

The acoustics in the tomb magnified every sound. They were coming right toward her.

This was her chance. They were hers at last. The question was, what to do, exactly. The children needed to be slowed down, they needed to be stopped. Frightened so badly that they would go back to that Boston Beantown where they belonged.

So, her poison nails — always an option. Or would a little explosive be better? Nothing too nasty, just enough to start a small cave-in. If she could get past them — and she could — she could place the device at the entrance, and ka-blooey. They would be stuck in the burial chamber for a good while, she imagined. Long enough to decide that the 39 Clues was a game for adults, not children.

Irina moved forward silently. Amy took a hesitant step into the chamber. The children were holding hands. _Awww. What adorable, sniveling cowards!_

The tomb had gotten to her. She’d been thinking crazy thoughts. Blin! As her grandmother used to say, she’d almost blown her own roof. Crazy thoughts, that she’d been on a wrong path, that there was another way to go.

There was only one way to go, and that was over everyone else. They were close. She could smell their fear. She smiled as she moved closer. Just another millimeter or two … Her foot hit something.

“Did you hear that?” Amy squeaked.

Irina was so close she could reach out and touch her. She had only to extend one finger … and scratch.

Her eye twitched. She bent down and touched what she’d hit with the toe of her Nike. Her fingers closed around a small book. She put it in her pocket.

“Someone’s here with us,” Dan whispered.

 _Yes, I am here, little comrade._ Irina could make out the gleam of the back of Dan’s neck. So vulnerable. So close.

But wait. Better they should be conscious when the explosion occurred. What was the good of scaring them if they were unconscious? Terror was best experienced when one was wide-awake.

Reluctantly, Irina drifted past the children like a ghost. Up the stairs toward the door. The side chamber was to her left now. In her other pocket was the explosive. Irina stopped. She set the timer. She held the explosive in her hand, ready to place it.

She remembered the wall paintings. The queen. The other goddess leading her by the hand. The greens, the golds, the blues. Three thousand years this tomb had survived. It should rest in peace.

What? How did that thought enter her brain?

She was a Cahill. A Lucian. Superior in intellect and cunning. She should do anything to get what she wanted…

Except destroy what millennia of sand and water and thieves did not.

Irina turned off the timer.

That’s when she heard the footsteps. There was someone else here.

Irina was scared of nothing in life. Except … maybe clowns.

She went toward the noise.

“Some crazy Russian lady.”

Nellie put down the phone.

“Just where did you see this crazy Russian lady?” Amy asked.

Theo looked abashed. “In Nefertari’s tomb. I bumped into her in the antechamber.”

The blond archaeologist, or should she say thief, seemed nervous. Probably because he was double-crossing a couple of kids whose only legacy from their beloved grandmother was a crazy contest they were bound to lose and a priceless statue. And thanks to him, they’d lost the statue.

 _Well, sore luck for them,_ Irina thought.

The guidebook had turned out to be a dead end. No hints, just notes in the margins, stupid things like don’t miss this! and good food here. A big fat zero for any Aswan Clues. What a waste of time. She’d already thrown it away. Having Grace’s thoughts, no matter how trivial, just made her eye twitch.

Irina circled back around to the café where Theo Cotter sat waiting, his fingers drumming on the small tiled table, the bag at his feet. She knew she hadn’t been followed. She’d passed by the café three times to make sure.

She slid into the chair next to him. “You have the Sakhet?”

“You have the money?”

She inclined her head. “As we agreed. It will be wired to Swiss account once I authenticate the statue.” She had no intention of wiring the money. She didn’t need the statue,  
she needed what was inside it. Lucians had been searching for it over the centuries. She wasn’t sure why, but once she had it, she’d know.

“First, I will examine in ladies’ room.”

She picked up the small bag, then moved through the tables to the restroom. She locked the door securely. She turned over the statue in her hands. It was a Sakhet, she knew that, with a lion’s head. Golden, as had been reported by the great Lucian Napoleon. The eyes were emeralds, she supposed — she didn’t know anything about gems. Everything appeared to be as it should be. Irina tapped the statue gently, searching for the trick to open it. She saw a hairline crack along the lion’s mane. She slid a narrow stiletto (so useful that knife had been over the years!) into the crack and the head revolved counterclockwise easily. It revealed a small compartment inside. Turning the statue over again, she shook it. A rolled piece of papyrus fell out.

It sounded like a load of horseradish. But the hints toward Clues never did make sense, until you got to the place where you were guided. Rabat was a city in Morocco. No doubt everything would be clear once she got there. Carefully, Irina slid the secret compartment closed. She put the paper in her pocket and the statue back into the bag.

She threaded her way back through the tables and plunked the bag back down at Cotter’s feet. “I’m surprised you would try to cheat me,” she said. “That is never good idea. This is fake statue.”

“But I assure you, it’s genuine.”

“Ha! You think for me I was born last Thursday? No money for you.” Irina got up and hurried away.

She wondered if the airport had direct flights to Morocco. The ancient city of Rabat was her next stop.

As she jumped into a taxi, she congratulated herself. She’d gotten over that brief moment of sentiment in Nefertari’s tomb. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak again.

Once she had the 39 Clues, she could maybe afford to be generous. Or maybe not generous, no need to go overboard. Maybe just a little … less strict. Until then, she would allow no more distractions. And she would never step foot in another tomb. Too many ghosts. Too many memories …

Irina’s eye began to twitch.

“Aswan airport. And step on it with foot!”

“Right,” Amy said. Irina had taken off for Morocco, and they’d seen Theo and Hilary board the plane to Cairo.

“Why do you look so bummed?” Nellie asked. “You should be celebrating. You had this great plan — you bought some old papyrus, and Theo copied Katherine’s handwriting perfectly. We found the perfect fake statue and drilled the hole. Thanks to our collective brilliance, you just sent your worst enemy on a one-way trip to a wild goose chase. Besides, I’m the one who should be crying. My heart is broken.” Nellie waved her spoon, then scooped up another spoonful of yogurt and honey.

“It was a brilliant plan,” Dan said. “You knew Irina wouldn’t fork over a million dollars.”

“She doesn’t have a million dollars,” Amy said. “She was going to double-cross Theo. All she wanted was the lead. And she wanted it so badly she didn’t stop to think that it came a little too easily.”

“That’s the fatal aw of the Lucians,” Dan said. “They think they’re brilliant.”

“No, Irina! Not the Catfish Hunter!” he yelled. Amy sighed. Once again, her brother was locked in a dream in which their cousin Irina Spasky was shredding a beloved baseball card with her fingernails.


	5. The Black Circle

“No, Irina! Not the Catfish Hunter!” he yelled. Amy sighed. Once again, her brother was locked in a dream in which their cousin Irina Spasky was shredding a beloved baseball card with her fingernails.

Ian dialed his cell phone. The mere mention of the competition heading into Russia at such a sensitive juncture had sent his father into a panic. Now was not the time to take chances.

“What do you want?” The voice on the other end of the line belonged to Irina Spasky, the only Russian citizen on any of the teams. She, like Ian, was part of the Lucian branch. One rung under Ian and Natalie’s parents, a fact that had long infuriated her.

“I don’t know how you managed to let everyone into your country,” said Ian. “But it’s making my father nervous. And when he’s nervous, I’m nervous. My father will have both our heads if we let another team capture one of our clues.”

“They will not get anything!” snapped Irina. “It will be for them a wild geese chase.”

Ian smirked. He could picture her eye twitching, as it always did when she was angry. “I don’t like all this activity so close to some very important secrets. It’s your country. Deal with it.”

“I suggest you hold your tongue. The line is not secure,” said Irina.

“You follow Dan and Amy Cahill. I think they’re on to something,” Ian ordered. “We’ll stay with the Holts.”

“Agreed. You babysit the idiots. I will get the real work done.”

Irina clicked off her cell phone and brooded in the backseat of a dingy Volkswagen van, the very one Dan and Amy had ridden from the airport. The bearded Russian was on the Lucian payroll, like hundreds of other informants spread across the homeland.

 _Who’s helping Dan and Amy Cahill?_ she wondered. Could there be a double agent within the ranks of the Lucians? The idea had crossed her mind before, but with the death of Grace Cahill, her suspicions had grown. There were secrets in Russia — secrets that had to be protected at all cost. Dan and Amy had stumbled into a hornet’s nest.

“They’re on the move,” said the bearded Russian in the front seat.

“Follow them,” ordered Irina. The driver merged into traffic and tracked a blinking dot on his screen.

“He’s pretty good on that bike,” said the driver, laughing despite the ultraserious agent sitting in the backseat of his van.

“I do not pay you for small talk,” Irina fired back.

The bearded driver clammed up, and not another word was spoken during the drive through Volgograd. Irina felt the twitch in her eye return, soft at first but growing more violent. Twenty minutes passed before the driver spoke again. “They’ve stopped. We’re near the train station.”

“Let me out,” said Irina. A wad of bills rolled past the driver and landed at his feet.

“I may need you again,” said Irina as she opened the door. “Keep your phone on and don’t leave the city.”

The driver nodded. He leaned down and picked the roll of bills off the floor. When he turned around again, Irina Spasky was gone.

Six rows back, Irina Spasky put down the newspaper she was hiding behind and frowned. She had walked past Dan and Amy’s seat, shrouded in dark sunglasses and a low-brimmed hat, and planted a wireless mic. Every word, every stupid, dangerous idea Amy and Dan had discussed came through loud and clear.

 _The young Kabras are maniacs and the young Cahills are suicidal,_ she thought. _And now I must track them across Russia and protect old secrets instead of hunting down new clues._ She clicked her tongue in disgust and reflected on how much she disliked children. But her chest tightened in automatic protest. There was a child, a long, long time ago, she had liked very much.

As they made their way down a wide flight of purple-velvetcarpeted stairs, Amy heard a thump behind them.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I think someone followed us in here. Hurry!”

Amy and Dan bolted down the stairs and turned a hard right. They passed under a tall archway and hung a left, ending up in front of a roped-off hallway.

“This is it,” said Amy. She ducked under the rope and Dan followed. Another turn to the left and they arrived in an open, dimly lit room. It was as if they’d stepped back in time to witness a murder. Everything from the night of Rasputin’s death was meticulously recreated. There were sculptures and pictures, and best of all, two rooms with life-size wax figures.

“There he is,” said Amy. In a room behind a yellow rope, Rasputin was sitting down at a table, eating the poisoned cakes that had been set before him.

“Come on, Dan. The trail leads to Rasputin. I’ll check his pockets.”

“I’ll check under the table.”

Amy braced herself and then reached into the thick black robes, her face just inches from Rasputin’s wax head with its bushy beard and fixed, staring eyes.

A deep Russian voice behind her said, “You have made a grave error in coming here.”

Dan tried to stand up from under the table and banged his head, sending saucers and cups clinking in the quiet room.

“Come away from there, both of you.”

Dan recognized the voice immediately.

“Irina! What are you doing here?”

“Children do not outsmart me in my own country.”

Dan looked at Amy and tried, without much luck, to read her frightened face. _Did you get anything?_

“Come, show me what you have found,” said Irina. “I do not plan to hurt you.”

Even in the shadowy light, Dan could see Irina was in her usual cheerless mood. He didn’t trust her for one second.

“I think we’ll stay right here if you don’t mind,” said Amy.

“Suit yourself. But you do not leave without answering a few questions. And you will give me what you have found.”

Dan didn’t have the map NRR had given them, and he wondered when Amy was going to spring it on Irina. What’s she waiting for?

“Who is helping you?” asked Irina. She deliberately toyed with her fingernails, and Dan flinched at the reminder of the poison they contained.

“No one’s helping us. We’re just smarter than you are,” said Dan, his eyes on his frozen sister.

“You think I didn’t see the snake? You think I didn’t hear everything you said on the train from Volgograd? You’re not so smart, little man.”

Dan started. She’s tailed us since Volgograd?!

“You believe someone is trying to help you? Ridiculous!” continued Irina. “It’s a trap! If you persist with this game, it will only lead to disaster. This person you are following? They will kill you once you’ve done their bidding.”

 _Like you tried to kill us in Paris?_ thought Dan. He spotted a butter knife on the table and wondered if it would do any good to grab for it. If only he had real ninja moves.

“I ask you once more. Who is helping you?”

“Here,” said Amy, finally emerging from her trance. She held out the map. “This is what we just found. You can have it. I haven’t even looked at it yet. But can we at least share the information?”

Irina snatched the paper from Amy’s hand and held it open in the soft light of the room. She let out a furious hiss.

“It is worse than I thought,” she warned, raising her arctic eyes to the children. “You two are in grave danger. You must believe me. Tell me! Who is helping you?!”

For a second, Dan was almost taken in. He couldn’t possibly trust her, and yet … something in her face registered a different kind of distress.

The moment passed in a flash, and Irina reverted to her typical grim resolve. She took a step toward Dan and Amy and curved one hand, her fingernail injectors gleaming menace.

“He didn’t give us a name,” said Dan. “We’re following a lead, that’s all. But if you don’t share that piece of paper with us it’s over. We’ll lose the trail. Just tell us what it says and we’ll go!”

Irina seemed almost satisfied. “If this person contacts you again, don’t listen to him. He will kill you in the end. You must leave Russia and never come back. If you do not believe me, it is not my fault. But it is your death.”

Irina backed off, shoving the map into her coat. “Let’s go, both of you. March!”

Dan and Amy hustled out of the exhibit with Irina close behind. She barked out directions until they reached the main entrance. Irina tapped out a code on her phone, held it up to an electronic alarm on the wall, and the huge wooden door clicked. She ushered Dan and Amy out into the cool night.

Once on the street, Irina hesitated, then seemed to make up her mind. “That map leads to secrets people would kill to protect,” said Irina. She shut the door and started walking away. “Leave now, alive. Someday you’ll thank me.”

Dan and Amy watched her leave with open mouths, feeling like two small fish that have watched a great white shark swim by. Then they came to their senses and hustled along the canal in the opposite direction. When Dan was sure they’d lost Irina, he put a hand on Amy’s arm.

Irina Spasky’s thumb hovered over the SEND button on her phone. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to make the call. She took a deep breath and put the phone back in the pocket of her thin black coat.

 _The Kabras can wait_ , she thought, turning away from Alexander Palace. Irina began to walk, alone as usual, toward the pond at the other side of the palace grounds.

She had watched Dan and Amy enter the palace, seen them run out toward that wreck of a car they’d purchased. They had been laughing. That bothered her. They were happy, these two. They would get into their tiny automobile and continue on until, eventually, they would lead Irina to trouble of the worst kind. A Lucian double agent. Perhaps a Madrigal.

They’d found something in the palace, this much was obvious. They were in deeper trouble than they realized.

 _It doesn’t have to end badly,_ she tried to convince herself. Another child flashed before her eyes, younger, blonder. _Why do I remember him best as a toddler?_

She remembered little of the last days, and almost nothing about the funeral. Almost everything had faded away but the weather. She would never forget the low, oppressive clouds and soft snow as they lowered the casket into the ground. Since then, there had been too many days and nights alone, too much time to think, and far too much compromised. Lose a child, and you lose your soul.

Irina took the phone in her hand again and this time she didn’t hesitate to press the button.

“Finally,” snapped Ian Kabra. “Have we got anything to worry about?”

“Yes,” said Irina. She’d arrived at the pond and stood staring into the algae-covered water. “Someone helps them. Someone high up in the Lucian branch. It must be.”

“What makes you think so?” Ian asked.

“They’ve just left Alexei’s Playroom. They must know about the Lucian connection to the Romanovs.”

“Make sure they don’t find themselves in possession of sensitive material. You know what’s at stake. One step closer and you’ll have to remove them.”

“I know.”

Irina paused, but the temptation to goad was too strong.

“It won’t be just me your father punishes,” she warned softly, and clicked off her phone.

At least she wasn’t being asked to do anything too drastic to the children yet. She took a device out of her pocket and turned it on. A small screen came to life.

“Where are you off to now, Dan and Amy Cahill?” she said.

Irina had already placed the coordinates from the parking lot into the device. A distant satellite beamed images onto her screen, zooming in closer and closer until the top of a blue car came into view.

“Not bad,” Irina said, pleased with the clever device the Lucians had only recently put into use in the field. The car was blurry and lacking detail on the screen, but the tiny blue top was unmistakable. _This will be easier than I thought._

Irina got in her own car, keeping the blue on-screen as she took chase. Two minutes later, the small car turned right.

“Off the main road,” she mumbled, seeing Dan and Amy turn off the highway. “You two are full of surprises.”

A few minutes later, Irina had unexpectedly caught up, finding herself on a one-lane dirt road. She no longer needed the satellite viewer because she was quickly overtaking the small car. She hadn’t intended to get so close to Amy and Dan, and she certainly didn’t want them spotting her. But the road was narrow, with plowed-over fields on both sides, and she had a big car. What was worse, the blue car had stopped and was turning around.

This will be complicated, thought Irina as the little car zoomed closer. It was going way too fast, as if the driver was planning to slam right into her front grill. Irina threw her car into reverse and began backing down the dirt road.

“Stop, you maniacs!” she screamed. Her car fish-tailed violently, caught the edge of a big rock, and spun out into the thick, tilled farmland.

The blue car buzzed up to Irina and screeched to a halt. Its driver was a gray-bearded man whose smile revealed a missing front tooth.

“Who gave you this car? Where did they go?” Irina screeched in Russian, rolling down her window.

The man nodded with some enthusiasm, which made Irina wonder if he had understood her questions. She peered into the empty backseat.

“Tell me, you idiot!” Irina screamed.

The name-calling seemed to upset the driver and his smile evaporated. “Americans,” he began. “Gave me ten thousand rubles plus the car in exchange.”

“Exchange for what?” yelled Irina.

“My truck,” said the man.

“What color was the truck? Which way did they go? Skazhi!” Irina should have known better than to hound an old Russian farmer. He was not amused by her angry tone, and he stared into the farmland as if he were made of iron. Irina reached into her pocket and pulled out a small revolver. Her eye was twitching furiously, but when she turned back to the car it widened in shock. The old farmer had slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, shooting a plume of dust and mud through her open window.

Chunks of farm road flew into Irina’s face. She threw her car into gear and hit the gas, but the soft tilled earth she’d backed into gave way and her rear wheels dug in.

She was stuck.

Irina coughed and spit, trying to clear all the mud from her mouth. The gunk in her eyes and mouth wasn’t nearly as bad as the awful truth.

_I’ve lost them._

“Do you think we’ve lost her for good?” asked Dan. It had been his idea to enlist the help of the farmer walking along the dirt road. Dan’s backpack full of money was coming in handy in more ways than he could have imagined.

That was it. Ian couldn’t take one more second confined in a small space with Natalie. He stepped out of the car and paced, dialing his phone. Five rings later, he hung up, unable to reach his father. As usual. He dialed again. This time, after three rings, Irina Spasky answered.

“I’m busy,” she snapped.

“Our day isn’t going as well as I’d expected. I hope you have better news for me.”

“Couldn’t handle the Holts? Why am I not surprised?”

Ian refused to be distracted by the sniping. He gathered himself, took a very deep breath, and put in the order. “You have to get rid of them. They’re working with the Holts, and I’m pretty certain they’ve relayed another message. Dan and Amy are too close.”

For some reason, Amy’s face and her stupid stutter flashed into his mind. He paused. “Get them out of Russia.”

He had chosen his words carefully. It was not officially a kill order. And yet he knew Irina would go to any extreme to remove the risk.

“Agreed,” Irina finally answered.

“Relay the details when you’ve accomplished your task.”

Irina clicked off her phone.

It was done.

“Hello, Nataliya Ruslanovna Radova. You’re looking picture-perfect as usual.”

“You’re too kind, Irina Nikolaievna Spaskaya. What do you need?”

Dan couldn’t believe his ears. Irina Spasky was calling in. Every muscle in his body tensed as it now seemed positive they were trapped.

“I need you to send a team to the room. There’s a lot of activity going on and I want to make sure it’s well guarded.”

“Funny you should call. Ian Kabra made the same request only an hour ago. We’re already building a black circle.”

“Excellent. Did he tell you he was in Siberia, chasing the Holts down the Road of Bones? He’s got himself into quite a mess.”

“His father was not pleased, as you might imagine.”

“Maybe Vikram will finally come to his senses and put them both back in school, where they belong.”

“Would you like me to send the Shark to pick you up?” asked Nataliya.

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ve had some complications of my own, but I think I can get to the room before nightfall. Bring the Shark to me, I’ll bring it back. We can have that cup of tea you’ve been promising me.”

“Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

There was a pause in the room and then Nataliya told Amy and Dan they could come out.

“I’ve never heard Irina so … I don’t know … talkative,” said Amy.

“We have been friends a long, long time,” said the woman in white. She placed her elbows on the desk. “I understand her, so she talks.”

“We’ve got enough time for a few more questions, but the call from Irina changes things. Your access to the room grows perilously small.”

“Irina has requested backup. Prepare the Shark for departure in fifteen minutes.”

Nataliya turned her gaze to Amy. “I sent you on this chase for many reasons,” said Nataliya. “The first was to distract my Lucian counterparts, to confuse them. The Kabras are thousands of miles away in Siberia, and Irina has been frustrated at every turn. Mission accomplished. The second reason was to discover what you are made of. You’ve been tested all along, no? You knew right away that it would take more than yourselves to find the room. I would never have guessed that anyone could bring the Holts under control, but you did it. It is imperative that you learn to work with others to achieve a greater good.”

“We must hurry, then,” she said. “It won’t be easy if Irina arrives before you.”

“Do you see Irina anywhere?” asked Dan.

“The monitors don’t show anything,” said Nataliya. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t here. Irina isn’t the type to stand in plain view.”

“Irina saw you and contacted me a few minutes ago,” Braslov continued. “The area will be secured.”

Nataliya panned her cameras around the lot and saw the dark figure of Irina emerge from a stand of trees. She walked with a stiff confidence, hands in her coat pockets, a woman in charge of her surroundings. A moment later, Irina was standing at the cockpit door, staring into the dark interior of the Shark.

“You couldn’t land somewhere a little less conspicuous?” asked Irina. “This kind of event makes problems for us.”

Anyone else would have thought Irina was talking to herself, but Nataliya heard the message loud and clear.

“I apologize, Irina. But I thought it was necessary to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve never pushed the Shark quite so hard.”

“She is a lovely beast, no? I look forward to flying her again.” Nataliya watched as Irina peered into the Shark, then back at the church.

“Why so focused on two American brats?” asked Nataliya. “They seem hardly a threat. I’ve been tracking them from the start, just like all the other teams, and I don’t see anything special. They’re hopelessly behind.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” said Irina. “They’ve outsmarted me before.”

Irina turned back toward the Shark. “Let me have a look inside. I haven’t taken her for a ride in months.”

Nataliya knew all too well how keen Irina’s senses were. The slightest mistake on the children’s part might lead to disaster. She pressed a white button and the cockpit door unlocked. Then she watched as Irina pulled open the door.

“Keep an eye out with all those cameras of yours, won’t you?” said Irina.

“Absolutely.”

Nataliya switched to the inside camera and watched as Irina studied the inside of the Shark for anything suspicious. Everything appeared to be in order, so she moved to the back and examined the seats. Still nothing.

“I hope I didn’t break something,” said Nataliya. “I pushed the Shark getting here so fast.”

Without warning, Irina disappeared from view. Nataliya swung the inside camera from side to side, then down to the floor, where she saw Irina lifting the trapdoor. Nataliya’s heart thrummed like a hummingbird. _It’s over! We’re caught!_

But nothing happened. Irina dropped the trapdoor and stepped out of the Shark without a word.

“I’m going inside. You keep a watch out here.”

Nataliya breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. At least Dan and Amy hadn’t been discovered. She could only assume they’d used what little time they’d had to escape into the church unseen. But they were anything but safe.

Irina Spasky was about to join them in the Church on the Blood.

Two seconds after the trapdoor in the Shark had shut, Dan had pressed a glowing red button that dropped the floor out, sending them both tumbling out onto the pavement before Irina got close enough to see them.

“Let’s just find the Amber Room and get out of here as fast as we can,” said Amy. “We don’t want to come face-to-face with Irina again.”

“They’re not the only ones watching you.”

Irina Spasky entered through the vault door.

“What have you done?”

Irina’s voice betrayed none of the horror she felt. How could the children have been so stupid? Of all the places in the world they could have tried to break into, a Lucian black circle was the most dangerous. There was only the slimmest chance….

She advanced on them quickly, crossing the room like a black cat until she had them cornered. “Tell me what you have found. Quickly!”

“Nothing yet. We’re still looking,” said Dan. It was a pathetic attempt. Irina could see he held a hand behind his back and was trying to stuff something in his back pocket. Irina surveyed the room, careful to keep them cornered.

“I see you’ve taken something out of its folder,” she said, spotting the yellowed paper on the floor. “And you’ve opened the face of the clock. Clever. Too clever! Someone has helped you. Tell me who!”

“We didn’t find anything important,” said Amy. “Just some old papers.”

“Give them to me at once! Your lives are in danger!”

Irina glanced toward the door. _There are minutes at best,_ she thought.

But she was wrong.

“We’ll take it from here.”

Irina whirled around. Two men, both with veils of black over their faces, blocked the entrance to the Amber Room. In unison, they pulled back the folds of their gray jackets, revealing the Lucian crest set in a black circle.

“We are authorized by Mr. Kabra,” one of them growled, holding his position at the door. “What is your clearance?”

“I created the black circle,” Irina spat out. “I have the highest clearance.”

The men looked at each other, sizing up the situation. Irina Spasky stared back at them, knowing what their presence meant. She had no choice now. She would have to kill the Cahill children, or these men would do it for her and kill her as well.

“I was about to clean up this situation,” said Irina. “Cover the door.”

The two agents retreated into the shadows, but Irina could feel their dark presence.

She hadn’t thought it would come to this. _Two more minutes and I could have dealt with them, taken the secrets, and gotten them safely out._ She moved in closer, reaching behind her for the dagger concealed at her back.

The girl seemed to sense the coldness that was coming. She pressed herself in front of her brother, protectively. “We’ll give you what you want,” said Amy. “Just let us go. Please.”

“It’s too late,” said Irina. “I tried.”

_When you lose a child, you lose your soul._

The dagger felt like ice in her hand.

There was a sharp crack from behind her. Irina turned to see shadows struggling on the wall of the darkened tomb.

“Behind you!” cried Irina.

One of the agents screamed. Irina felt a flame of wild hope and barked out to Amy and Dan, “Stay where you are!”

She crouched like a cat and burst through the doorway. Voices and shadows bounced off the wall, echoing in her brain. At first she wasn’t sure, but then …

“You?” she gasped, her eyes latched on the wiry figure of a man dressed all in black, lunging for the Lucian agents with the blunt end of a metal pole.

Dan and Amy didn’t waste any time. The second Irina entered the darkness beyond the door they followed, creeping into the tomb behind her. There was slashing and yelling and the sound of someone hitting the ground, and Dan’s and Amy’s shocked eyes made out the outline of a man in black locked in struggle with Irina Spasky.

The line was barely working underground, and Amy strained to hear the scarcely discernible, staticfilled voice on the other end. All Amy could make out was the word safe, which she took to mean the coast was clear. It was a female voice, so it was probably Nataliya. _Or Irina trying to smoke us out._ She pushed the thought aside.


	6. In Too Deep

In answer, Saladin let out a mrrp as the bus pulled up with a squeal of brakes. The cat-screech startled the elderly woman standing in front of them. She turned around. “What is that, dear? Some exotic Australian bird?” She peered at the cat carrier nearsightedly as she she shuffled in her purse for a tissue.

“It’s just a cat,” Amy said apologetically. “He’s hungry, I guess.”

“Ooo, I love kitties.” She pulled her red suitcase on wheels as the line of tourists shued forward.

The map bounced o the back of Amy’s head. “Oops, sorry dear,” the woman said. “I just bopped you with the Blue Mountains.”

“It’s okay,” Amy said. “No worries.”

“Americans! I knew it! So friendly. I traveled to Kansas City once. Delicious barbecue. You’re not from Kansas by any chance? No? Pity.” The woman began to murmur to herself as she looked over the map. Every so often it would smack Amy on the head again, but she ignored it.

The friendly woman behind them stood up as they rolled to a stop. Dragging her suitcase and folding her map, she waved at them. “Cheerio! Enjoy your trip!”

“You, too!” Amy waved. The doors hissed shut.

“It’s not missing,” Nellie said. “It was stolen. That old woman!”

“Really? She was so sweet. She kept hitting me in the head with the map and apologizing….” Amy’s mouth dropped open.

Nellie nodded. “Yup. Distracting you.”

Dan began to stab at the STOP button on his armrest. “Come on. Let’s go kick some little-old-lady butt!”

Irina Spasky sat on the steps of the Sydney Opera House. The rooine of the famous building surged forward, mimicking the dancing waves of the harbor. The sun was a golden disc in a sky as blue as a Fabergé egg. Tourists and locals walked by, contented people enjoying a lovely day in a beautiful city.

 _You are all doomed,_ she thought.

If she were to stop these people and ask Where are you from? — although of course she would never be so friendly—the answers would be easy. Sydney, Tokyo, Manila, Los Angeles. Tourists from so many cities and small towns in so many countries. Sometimes their countries got along, and sometimes their countries did not, and that was why there were governments and diplomats and, occasionally, wars. That’s the way the world worked. They thought.

But where did the real power lie? In the shadows. In the shadows, there were no borders. Everything dissolved into gray.

For a Cahill, countries and boundaries were meaningless. Only branches mattered. One branch could rule the world.

Blin! Irina had come to grudgingly admit that Grace had done it after all. She had contrived a way to nd the 39 Clues. A hunt that had been going on for hundreds of years, but at last it would be over. Irina had little doubt of it now. She felt it in her Russian bones.

Then what?

Irina had always believed with every cell in her body that the Lucians were best equipped to win. She had believed in Vikram Kabra once. But the years had corrupted that bright young man she’d known at Oxford. He had met the beautiful Isabel and married her. Once upon a time, if those two walked into a room, it seemed to shine and spin with their particular dazzle. Irina remembered days and nights of falling under their spell —Vikram’s warm voice, his keen intelligence, Isabel’s shrewdness and humor.

Once upon a time … yes, every fairy tale began that way.

When she’d met them, she’d already been a KGB agent for two years. She’d joined the KGB at sixteen — their youngest operative — and had been trained and educated to become an exchange student at Oxford. She had met Vikram, and they’d become friends almost immediately.

Irina hadn’t known it, but she was a Cahill. She had been recruited by the KGB because she was a Cahill. Her superior had also been a Lucian, and she had been sent to Oxford, where Vikram had been waiting. It had been Vikram who had shown her the Cahill world, told her about the Lucians. She had continued in the KGB, but as the years went on, she did more and more jobs for Isabel and Vikram as they ascended the ranks of the Lucian elite.

She had believed in them. She had believed in their ruthlessness. She’d believed in her own. It was necessary. The Lucians must win at any cost.

And then just a few days ago, she’d almost killed two people who got in her way.

Amy and Dan Cahill. _Children._

What had become of her?

Irina put a finger on her twitching eye, but it would not stop jumping.

Irina stared at the bright, pretty world. She was not used to having doubts. They made a person feel so … unmoored.

Right now she had a job. Amy and Dan were in Sydney. Isabel herself had gone with the Lucian team to tail them from the airport. It had been years since Isabel had acted as an agent, and it was typical of her to jump in and risk the careful planning. Her ego came into play, as it always did. She wanted to prove that she was still an expert at disguise. So she’d pretended to be an elderly woman, and then, just for fun, she’d stolen Amy’s jade necklace. Which meant she had to leave the bus, which meant that now Irina had a problem. She had no idea where Dan and Amy were staying, and Isabel snapping _Find them!_ in her face wasn’t helping.

What was Isabel up to? The fact that she’d actually left her mansion in London to fly all the way here was troubling. Isabel and Vikram liked to control things from afar. Isabel claimed that jet lag gave her wrinkles.

 _Not that you have to worry about such things,_ she’d told Irina with a laugh. _Obviously, you don’t care about your appearance._

This was true, but it was still insulting. Once, Irina had been attractive. Some had called her beautiful. One person in particular.

Irina’s eye twitched. That was long ago.

So much had gone wrong in Russia. Amy and Dan, she was sure, had found the Clue. She’d been certain that they were being helped, but still…. What they were able to accomplish on their own … Dan on that motorcycle! Amy driving a car! Irina quirked her lips, but she didn’t allow the smile to escape.

She rose to her feet. _Enough._ She had a duty to do. If only the memories would stop! A little boy walked by between his parents, clutching a stuffed animal, something gray … a monkey? No, a puppy. It was only a puppy.

Irina felt the nerve in her eye shiver, and she reached up a hand to still it. A group of young people thought she was waving to them, and they waved back.

Scowling, she jammed her black sunglasses on. How she hated Australia! It was such a _cheerful_ country.

Suddenly, she felt someone behind her, a little too close.

“Beautiful day. Hope you are able to enjoy it.”

Amy felt the fear curl inside her at the sound of that harsh Russian-accented voice. She tried to move away, but a group of tourists was directly in front of her, loudly discussing where to eat dinner. She felt something press against her back.

“By the way, the nails are loaded,” Irina said.

All Irina had to do was bend back the joint of her finger, and a needle full of poison would sink into Amy’s neck. She looked around frantically for a policeman.

“Do not be a stupid person. No one can help you. Now go.”

She moved away from the harbor, back down the street. Her eyes searched the area, looking for a way out. Could she outrun Irina? Maybe. But Irina pressed so close behind her that Amy knew she’d never get away without a prick from that needle.

“Don’t think. Just walk. No business that is funny. Now in here. Go.” Irina urged her inside an old stone building. The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open. Irina crowded in behind her and shut the door.

They were in an old pub. The curved wooden bar stretched the length of the room. Dim light caught the ash of amber in bottles still lined up on a shelf. But cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and they had disturbed dust that swirled in the slanting sunlight.

“This way,” Irina said, prodding Amy toward a small door at the back.

Fear coiled inside Amy. She had seen the blank, intense look in Irina’s eyes in the Church on the Blood. Irina had been close to killing her and Dan that dark night. “No.”

“Push door, please,” Irina said. When Amy hesitated, Irina’s foot shot forward and kicked open the door. She gave Amy a small shove. “If I were going to kill you, I could have done it ten times already. We need private talk away from the Kabras. When you don’t show up on time, they’ll come looking. So go.”

Amy found herself in a large storeroom. Huge cans of baked beans and tomatoes sat on the shelves. “You’ve brought me to Costco?” she asked in a mocking voice. She needed to push back, let Irina know she wasn’t paralyzed with fear. Even though she was.

“You should know by now I don’t understand the jokes.” Irina pushed her to the rear of the storeroom. A smaller door was set into the thick stone wall, made of old wood with deep, long cracks running down it. Irina produced a large iron key and tted it into the lock. She pushed open the door. All Amy could see was darkness.

“Now I show you special piece of Australian history.” Irina nudged her in the back. Amy felt the sharpness of her fingernail. “Go.”

A tiny penlight barely illuminated a rickety set of stairs. The door thudded shut behind them.

“We could meet an occasional rat,” Irina said. “Otherwise, perfectly safe.”

“Don’t worry,” Amy said. “I’m used to rats. They run in my family.”

“Comedian like your brother, eh?” Irina said. “This tunnel was used in the 1800s. If a lowlife drank too much rum at a bar, he found himself on a ship out to sea the next morning. Smuggled through tunnel to harbor.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. The floor was dirt, the walls crumbling stone. Amy couldn’t see what was ahead.

“Wh-where are you taking me?” She hated the quaver in her voice. She wouldn’t let it out again.

“Ha!” Irina barked the word without humor. “You think I’m kidnapping you? I’m saving you. There are some things I won’t stoop to do.”

“Really,” Amy said. “I thought you stooped at nothing.”

“Is a joke? It’s true, though, what you say. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to win. But today, Amy Cahill, I’m doing you a favor. I’m giving you advice you need. Here it is—you are afraid of everything except what you should fear.”

“Thanks,” Amy said. “That was really helpful.”

“For example, you are afraid of me right now. Understandable, I am your enemy. But at this moment, I am least of your problems.”

“Really?” Amy said. “Weird. Seeing that I’m in a tunnel with rats, and you just threatened me with poison.”

“Here is other thing I must tell you — you don’t remember what you should never forget.”

“That really clears up a lot.”

“Go ahead, make the fun. But before we part, you must understand that what you don’t know will doom you. And the world.”

“Exaggerate much?” Somehow, taunting Irina kept her fear in check.

“No.” Irina spun her around. In the darkness, she stood very close. “Listen to me, Amy Cahill. It is time you lift your head and look around you. The thirty-nine clues are like game to your brother, yes?”

Amy felt compelled by the ferocity of Irina’s gaze. Her eyes, even in the faint glow of the penlight, were ice blue, her lashes startlingly dark against them. She couldn’t deny what Irina had said. In many ways, the chase for the Clues was a game for Dan.

“But you know better. That’s why I risk so much to talk to you. Your parents died for this. Do you think they wanted to go?”

“Don’t talk about my parents!” Amy would have put her hands over her ears if she wasn’t afraid it would make her look like a child.

“No parent would ever want to leave a child. Do you think they would leave their beloved children for a game?”

“Stop it!”

“Do you think your mother left you alone and raced back into a burning house just for her husband?”

Amy looked at Irina, startled. Frozen. “How do you know what happened?” she whispered.

Irina shrugged. “From newspaper, of course. Unless not. Only you know for sure. Because you know who was there that night. You were old enough to see. You won’t believe what any Cahill tells you, and that is smart. We each have our agenda. So you must remember.”

“I don’t remember anything from that night,” Amy said. But something dislodged and oated up into her brain, cold grass, ash ying, a window shattering, Dan crying …

“You have been resourceful, I give you that,” Irina said. “You think on your feet, you and your brother. But there comes a time when you must think deeper. You must face the thing you don’t want to face. Until you can do that, you’re vulnerable.”

“To what?”

“To someone who will tell you what you want to hear,” Irina said. “So I ask again. What happened the night of the fire?”

_She was choking through the cold, wet towel Mommy had placed over her mouth. Mommy held her hand so tightly. She could hear the flames, but she couldn’t see them. It was all smoke. Dan cried in their mother’s arms._

“I don’t remember! I was a kid!” Fear tore the words from Amy’s throat.

_The ashes she was getting were making her dizzy and sick._

“It’s strange,” Irina said, her gaze suddenly unfocused. “I remember so clearly being seven. The day I got separated from my mother on the streets of St. Petersburg … I remember the coat I was wearing, my shoes, the exact color of the river, the look on her face when she found me …”

“I’m happy for you,” Amy said, swallowing hard.

“Did anyone visit the house that night?” Irina asked. “Did you hear anything? Did your mother come upstairs for you? How did you get out of the house?”

“Stop it!”

_They fought their way down the stairs. Daddy was in the study, throwing books on the oor._

_“Get the children out!” he shouted._

_“Daddy!” she screamed. She held out her arms and he stopped for a second._

_“Angel,” he said, “go with Mommy.”_

_“No!” She sobbed as her mother pulled her away. “No! Daddy!”_

_“No,” Amy whispered. “No.”_

“We push away the bad memories,” Irina said. Bleak sadness deadened her voice. “We tell ourselves is better not to remember. It is not better. Better to remember everything, even pain.”

“What do you want from me?”

Irina’s gaze snapped back into its glittering directness. “Come. We run out of time. This is a Lucian site. If we’re both missing, it won’t take long for Isabel to look here.”

They started to walk again. Amy thought the light might have been getting grayer. Were they reaching the end of the tunnel? She was ready to run if they were. She felt something scurry past, and she jumped.

“Just a rat,” Irina said. “One of the family, eh? And it’s a rat who will ll your ears with lies.”

“Stop!” Amy said. “If you’re not going to kill me or kidnap me, the least you can do is talk straight.”

They had reached the door. Amy saw the heavy iron lock. She wasn’t getting out without Irina’s help. Irina stood with her back to the door. “Okay, I will talk straight. Isabel has called a meeting, yes?”

“Ian did.”

Irina waved a hand dismissively. “Ian is the lure. She thinks you’re stupid enough to come running if he asks. She chose him to dangle the bait. She knows you will come if you want to know who killed your parents.”

“Does she know?”

Irina lifted a shoulder. “That is wrong question. Right question is, will she tell you the truth? Of course not. She will tell you a lie in order to soften you. The lie will sound like truth. Then she will oer you a deal.”

“And you think I’m dumb enough to believe what she tells me.”

Irina held up a nger. “Nyet, not dumb. You are here with me now because I know you are smart. You need to know that if Isabel doesn’t get her way, she can be... unreasonable. There will be bad consequences if you refuse the deal.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Amy asked.

“Don’t go. You don’t need her version of that night. You have your own. Reach for it.” Irina put her hand on the door. “This leads to the street three blocks from harbor. No surveillance here. You can catch bus or taxi right outside. Go back to wherever you are staying.”

“Why should I?”

Irina sighed. “Because you must fear the right thing, as I said in beginning. Do you think whoever killed your parents would hesitate to kill you, too?”

“I don’t believe anything that you’re saying,” Amy said. “I think you’re trying to manipulate me and frighten me.”

Irina’s gaze flared in anger or exasperation, Amy couldn’t tell which. “Little girl, keep up. You should be frightened.” She hesitated. “What if I give you clue to let you know I’m telling the truth. Okay?”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Irina said impatiently. “Listen. Sooner or later you will get hint leading you to New York City subway. The clue is hidden there in a mural in the tile. Seventeenth Street stop on number six subway train. I know what you will say — Irina, there is no stop on number six train for Seventeenth Street. But that is why the clue is so dicult to find. Rosemary. One sprig.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Irina shrugged. “Thirty-nine clues, I give away one. So? As you would say, no biggie. It is worth it if you trust me.”

“I could never trust you in a million years,” Amy said.

“I’m not asking for a million years or never or forever,” Irina snapped. “I’m asking for one day only. Today.”

“Why are you doing this?” Amy asked. “If the clue is real, you just betrayed your branch.”

Irina flinched. “I’m doing this for my branch. Someday I hope this becomes clear.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Turn right at end of alley. Go.”

Amy’s legs trembled as she walked out. She was in a dark, narrow alley. Ahead she could see sunlight and traffic, a taxi cruising by. When she reached the street, she looked behind her. Irina was gone.

Could Irina really have just let her go?

She hesitated. Why should she trust Irina? She was suddenly paralyzed with fear. Her parents had been murdered. This was all too real. Was someone watching her even now? If Irina had lied, she had also set a trap.

If Amy hailed a taxi or got on a bus, someone would follow her straight to Shep’s. Irina had said wherever you are staying. They still didn’t know. But if Irina hadn’t lied, she was walking into Isabel’s trap.

Amy glanced behind her. Irina stood at the end of the dock, blocking her way back to The Rocks. She was wearing sunglasses, and Amy couldn’t read her expression.

Amy felt like a fool. Irina had planned this. She’d probably been behind her the whole way and radioed ahead to Isabel.

She had been afraid of grim, colorless Irina for so long and the menacing Holts that this new shape of villain didn’t make sense. Isabel looked like a model. Her eyes sparkled and her smile was generous and warm. She was one of the most beautiful women Amy had ever seen. Isabel perched high on the captain’s chair, her white sneaker swinging gaily. Dangerous? It didn’t seem possible. Just another of Irina’s lies.

“Enough about the clues. Who killed my parents?”

“Irina Spasky.”

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, staining the blue water with pink. The glare behind Isabel put her face in shadow, obliterating her features. It seemed to flare out like fire around her. Amy felt dizzy.

This was what Irina had warned her about. _The lie will sound like truth._ But was it a lie? Or did Irina just want her to think it was?

“My husband and I knew Irina when we were all teenagers,” Isabel said. “I watched her turn from an idealistic scholar into a cold-blooded killer. But I never dreamed she’d strike against her own relatives. The chase for the clues is a hunger for her. It’s warped her. I’m sorry, Amy. This can’t be easy to hear. But you should know who killed them.”

And Isabel did look sorry. Her bright eyes, the color of dark honey, were full of sympathy.

“If we join forces, we can defeat her,” Isabel said. “We can expose her. That’s what she fears more than anything. The Madrigals … they are the game changers. What do we know about them? Only that they’re bent on the destruction of all Cahill branches … and yet nobody knows who or what they are. We suspect that the group was formed by rogue Cahills hundreds of years ago, and they are committed to the destruction of the entire family. Surely you’d think the branches would unite against them. But for all those years, the branches couldn’t form an alliance, even against a common enemy. Until now.” Isabel clasped her hands. “We can make the future, Amy. We can nd the thirty-nine clues and you can avenge your parents. If we work together.”

“I don’t see what you get out of this,” Amy said.

“Your brains. Your brother’s instincts. You have to admit you’ve bested even my own children. And remember this, Amy—you could already be a Lucian. Grace chose not to have allegiances. You seem most like a Lucian to me,” Isabel said. Her voice was husky, warm. She opened her arms. “So this could be just … coming home. One more thing we offer, the most important thing. Protection. Irina has more tricks up her sleeve, I promise you. And the Madrigals are ruthless.”

Had she been in the tunnel with her parents’ murderer? Amy thought again of the look in Irina’s eyes at the confrontation in the church crypt. She knew Irina was capable of terrible things….

Unless … Irina had told the truth, and it was Isabel who was lying. Amy felt her stomach churn.

But this time, it was sour-faced Spasky getting the heat. That was sweet.

Natalie kept her posture straight, even though it was difficult on the cushy sofa. She kept sliding forward on the slippery satin. But even while Mummy ranted, she could spot slumping shoulders.

Ian sat next to her. He’d come back seasick, his face the color of her new chartreuse Prada purse.

“This is your fault.” Isabel’s voice had taken on the cool, precise tone that Ian and Natalie privately called the scalpel. It sliced you open and left you bleeding. She paced in front of Irina, her high heels making dents in the thick carpet of the hotel suite. Her heavy charm bracelet jangled along with her agitation. “I had to soak for an hour to get the smell out. I had to throw away my entire outt. And it was Chanel!”

Natalie shuddered. Nothing worse than losing couture.

“Not to mention that the girl got away!” Isabel put her hand to her throat, where Amy’s jade necklace gleamed against her sleeveless white dress. Natalie had no idea why she was wearing it when she could be wearing diamonds.

“Excuse me, but I don’t see why this is my fault,” Irina said. “Reminder: I was not on boat.”

Ian stiffened beside her and Natalie stared at Irina, fascinated. Didn’t she have any idea how to handle Isabel when she was angry? You had to agree with everything she said and apologize, no matter how unfair the accusations were. Otherwise, you were toast.

Isabel wheeled and approached her. Natalie knew that look. Irina was about to get it. Both barrels between the eyes. This was going to be very good.

“Excuse me,” Isabel said witheringly. “You had one simple assignment. Find Amy. Bring her to the boat.”

“Excuse me for second time,” Irina said. “She did go aboard boat, which was the objective. I do not see—”

“You do not see because you are a fool!” Isabel let her contempt drip from every word. “You were supposed to deliver Amy at three-twelve exactly. And you were supposed to arrive by Argyle Street so that Ian could spot you with the binoculars and I could prepare the boat. You didn’t do any of it! You were fifteen minutes late. Fifteen minutes! That gave the Holts enough time to get organized. Even those thick skulls don’t need too long to gure out a plan!” Isabel planted herself in front of Irina. “They had us under surveillance. And you are responsible for counter surveillance. So add it up, Irina. Not only did you fail … you failed miserably.”

Natalie smirked. Why shouldn’t she let Irina know how much she was enjoying this? Irina had never gotten it into her head that she wasn’t the boss. Ian and Natalie were the personal representatives of Vikram and Isabel. They were the de facto Lucian leaders. Irina couldn’t bear that.

Isabel held up her thumb and index finger a fraction apart. “I was this close to getting her to tell all the clues they had. This close! That little mouse was terried.”

“What if she didn’t?” Irina asked.

“What if she didn’t what?”

“Cooperate. You would throw her to sharks?”

“Don’t bore me with what ifs,” Isabel said, turning and waving a hand. “I am about results. And now we’ve been defeated. By the Tomas. Unacceptable!”

Isabel’s narrow, toned shoulders lifted up, then down. When she turned around, her expression was calm. Not that her face ever showed much emotion. Isabel kept the best plastic surgeons in London very busy. She’d been pulled, pricked, smoothed, and plumped. Natalie wished her mother wasn’t quite so obsessed, but she guessed that once you were in your forties, it was a gigantic amount of work to keep yourself up.

“The thing is, Irina, this isn’t the first time you’ve failed to achieve our objectives,” she said. “You’re slipping. You’re … well, frankly, you’re old.”

“Reminder,” Irina said. “We are the same age.”

“Old thinking,” Isabel said. “You don’t keep up. You were once the best spy in the business. I give you that. But if you don’t shape up, you’re going to be out. Do you understand? It’s crunch time, as the Americans say. There is no such thing as failure for a Kabra.”

“Don’t you mean, no such thing as failure for the Lucians?” Irina asked.

Isabel looked uncertain for a moment. “Of course that is what I meant.”

“Because this contest is about power for the Lucian Cahills, not the Kabra family,” Irina said. “Unless I’ve been misinformed.”

“Well, naturally.” Isabel’s ngers drummed on her leg. Somehow, Irina had succeeded in making Mummy uncomfortable. Isabel flicked a piece of lint o her dress as though it were a missile. Natalie hoped her mother would demolish Irina, or they’d be in for a very bad afternoon.

“And I would also argue that perhaps Kabras do know failure occasionally,” Irina continued, keeping her voice bland. “Your children, for example.”

 _You hateful witch,_ Natalie thought. She waited for Ian to say something, but he was like a statue next to her.

Irina smiled. “It seems that Amy and Dan Cahill have bested them at every turn. How many clues have you two collected?” she asked. “I mean, the two of you, alone. How many?” She put a finger to her temple. “Let me think … oh, I remember! One.”

“Mummy!” Natalie half rose. “She can’t talk to us that way!”

Irina turned back to Isabel. “The truth is that those two have turned out to be much smarter than we expected. And what if they discover what really happened to their parents? Now, they are resourceful. If they have an even greater reason to win — revenge — they will be dangerous.”

Suddenly, Isabel undid the clasp of the jade necklace and threw it at Irina’s feet.

“That is what I think of those Cahills. Not to mention your ridiculous obsession with Grace Cahill. She was a batty old lady who thought she knew best. Well, she and her grandchildren won’t get in our way — no matter how much they know.”

Irina picked up the necklace. She ran her fingers along the carved dragon in the center.

“You thought it was important,” Isabel said. “Another one of your mistakes. I had it thoroughly checked this morning. It’s just a necklace. A cheap piece of sentimentality that the girl clings to. It was a waste of my time to steal it. Well, I’m done wasting time. Now, if you could manage to do one simple thing.” Isabel tossed her cell phone to Irina. “Call the Fixer.”

 _Who’s the Fixer?_ Natalie wondered.

Irina cleared her throat. “I am no longer sure of his reliability.”

“Of course he’s reliable,” Isabel countered. “We’ve used him many times. Tell him I’m in Sydney and I need a few things. I’ll contact him later with a list.”

Isabel picked up her purse. “Ian, Natalie. Come. We’re going shopping.”

Natalie popped up. _At last!_

“Let yourself out, Irina.”

The door slammed behind them. Natalie had to practically skip to keep up with her mother’s fast pace.

“Irina is just jealous of you,” she said. “She wants to be leader, and she’s just hopeless at it.”

The echo of the door slam faded. Irina stared at the phone. She would have to call the Fixer. He could be out of the country on a job, but that would be too much to hope for.

There was one in every city, she supposed, a person who could get anything you needed. Passports, cars, explosives, poisons. The Lucians found such contacts valuable. The Fixer was one of the best. He did not balk at anything, he could get anything, and he asked no questions. She had used him herself.

What would Isabel need from him this time? What was she planning?

Restlessly, Irina paced the room. She had lost Isabel’s condence. She no longer knew the plan, only parts of it.

She ran her fingers over the cool green stones of the necklace. Isabel’s insults had washed over her like water. They hadn’t stung.

She slid the necklace into the pocket of her black jacket and zipped the pocket shut. She never felt sentimental. Ever. Yet she understood sentiment. Having something a loved one had touched. Keeping it near.

When she had finally made herself clean out Nikolai’s room all those years ago, she had folded his favorite pair of pants and found something in the pocket. Her own school medal for First Place Vaulting Championship. The metal was tarnished, the ribbon tattered and faded. But Nikolai had carried it with him. He had touched it every day. A reminder of his mother. She was away so much.

He needed something real to keep her with him. She hadn’t known.

She hadn’t known.

That had been the moment she had broken. She had held the pants against herself and sobbed. She had screamed out her agony. She had put herself back together slowly, but she was never the same. She was still broken. She had lost her son.

She slid her hand into her other pocket and touched the medal. Now it was her turn to keep something close as a reminder. To touch something he had touched.

_Irina, the problem in Helsinki needs your attention._

_My son is sick. It’s not a good time._

_She still remembered Isabel’s brittle laugh._

_Children are sick all the time._

_No, it is more than that. The doctor said …_

_Don’t bore me with details. Do your job. The tickets are waiting for you at the airport._

So she had kissed him, kissed his golden curls. She had whispered that she would be gone for only two days. Anna, her neighbor who watched him, whom he adored, Anna would be by his side. Irina would bring him back anything he wanted.

 _A monkey,_ he said, and she had laughed.

She had to go undercover. No communication, no phones, nothing. So she did not collect Anna’s increasingly frantic messages. She did not get the doctor’s call. She touched down in Moscow two days later and discovered that her nine-year-old son was dead. She was holding the stuffed monkey, an expectant smile on her face, when a weeping Anna told her the news.

Now Irina rose. Once Isabel had forced her to do something that she regretted with every waking breath.

It would not happen again.

Quickly, Amy recounted how Irina had led her through the tunnel and warned her about Isabel, yet she’d wound up on the boat anyway. She explained how Isabel had offered them Lucian protection and what had happened when she’d said no. When she described Isabel calmly ladling the fish parts into the sea, Nellie turned white. But the funny thing was that as Amy told the story, she stopped shaking, and her fear went away.

She told them everything, including the rosemary Clue that Irina had given her. But she didn’t tell them the most important thing. That Ian, Irina, and Isabel all told her that Hope and Arthur had been murdered. And that Isabel had accused the Madrigals and Irina of the crime.

“Oh, man,” Dan said, throwing himself back on the cushions. “I missed it! If I’d been there, Isabel Cobra wouldn’t have had a chance. We could have pushed her into the water. Or I could have gotten shing line and tied her up. Or we could have used Ian as a battering ram!”

“Dan,” Nellie chided. “This isn’t a game.”

_The thirty-nine clues are like game to your brother, yes?_

Amy couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Irina’s erce gaze, blue as a ame in the darkness.

_Do you think your mother left you alone and raced back into a burning house just for her husband?_

_Remember that night, Amy. Think about that night. You were there. You were old enough to see._

“Why am I paying for your education?” Isabel asked. “Jakarta is on Java. Henderson took passage from there on a ship called the Lady Anne to Sydney in 1883.”

Isabel eyed Irina. “What’s your problemski, comrade? Are you worried about little Dan and Amy? They seem to have nine lives. They survived. A little scare will keep them on their toes.”

Irina said nothing. At her feet was the empty jar and box that the Fixer had delivered to Isabel. Isabel had whistled as she’d carried it herself to the private plane she’d hired to take them to Coober Pedy. She’d also arranged for a Hummer to be driven up from Adelaide.

Irina hadn’t known what was in the box until Isabel had opened it. Isabel had smiled as she shook out the jar of deadly spiders. She’d planned on releasing them into the Cahills’ hotel room, but this was better still. Right down the shaft onto their heads! Isabel had also handled the snake easily. Not a drop of perspiration on her brow as she ipped the latch and grabbed him from behind, wearing the heavy gloves. She had enjoyed it. Enjoyed being close to so much deadly terror.

“I want you to keep track of the Cahill brats while I take Ian and Natalie with me. Report in on their movements. If by some slim chance they’re on their way to Java, delay them. I’m tired of them in my hair.”

“And then?” Irina asked.

“And then what?” Isabel asked irritably. She was checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror, and she tilted it to look at Irina.

“They aren’t going away for long,” Irina said. “We have seen their tenacity. What are your ultimate plans for them?”

Isabel shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m concentrating on this clue. We could even nd all thirtynine clues — can you imagine that, children? — because we’re almost one hundred percent sure that Robert Cahill Henderson had most, if not all, of them. Amy and Dan will be immaterial. They’ll be dust. Not worth dealing with.” Isabel played with the gold charms on her bracelet, then turned her attention to her fingernails.

Irina watched Isabel’s careless indierence, as though her manicure was the most important thing in the world. She knew Isabel too well and for too long. It was true she cared deeply about nail polish. But she also cared deeply about getting rid of dust.

Isabel had used some of her best tricks to scare them away. Soon she would unleash her rage. Irina could feel it building.

 _This has been a long road,_ she thought. _Now, I can finally see the end._

“It’s them! It’s my babies!” The voice echoed across the hangar.

A woman in a black dress hurried into the hangar, clasping her hands together. It took them a moment to recognize Irina. She was wearing a scarf tied under her chin and small rimless glasses.

“There they are, my little pierogies!” she cried. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“Did who hurt us?” Dan asked.

“This woman claims to be your cousin,” the officer said.

“She is,” Amy admitted, “technically, but …”

The officer turned to Shep. “In that case, you’re under arrest for kidnapping.”

“This is ridiculous!” Shep said as they walked back into the hanger. “I’m their cousin, too!”

“You see how he makes big lie from mouth,” Irina said, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes. Her Russian accent had thickened. “Maya morkovka!” she cried to Amy. “My little carrot! How my eyes have longed to plant themselves on your face!”

Amy grabbed Shep’s arm. “He is our cousin!”

“May I see your passport, sir?” the officer asked Shep sternly.

“I just had it a minute ago….”

“Come here, little treasure,” Irina said, trying to hug Dan. “I am like grandmother to these children. They ran away from guardian in Boston. You see I have papers. Look! Office Social Services, city of Massachusetts, have been looking. I have been sent to bring them home.”

“Everything looks in order,” the ocer said, consulting the papers. “Apparently, Social Services are looking for these two back in the States.”

“That woman is a lying, homicidal spy!” Dan cried, pointing at Irina.

“She tried to kill us!” Amy yelled.

Irina dabbed at her eyes again, which were completely dry. “They have always had trouble with authority,” she said to the ocer. “You know American children, so spoiled. But they are my little pierogies, and I love them. They are family.”

“You say you’re their nanny and their cousin?” the officer asked.

“Oooooo,” Irina cried, throwing her handkerchief over her face. “My heart in broken pieces like teacup, just seeing sweet angel faces again!”

“My heart is throwing up in mouth,” Nellie said, rolling her eyes.

Even the security officer lifted an eyebrow. Amy thought Irina was piling it on a little too thick. Obviously, she didn’t have much practice at sentiment.

“If you could let me go back to the plane, I could get the papers,” Shep said. “I’ve clearly misplaced them, but they can’t have gone far.”

“Don’t move.” The officer turned to Amy and Dan. “This lady is Irina Cahill, and she claims—”

“She’s not a Cahill!” Amy cried. “I mean, she is, but that’s not her name!”

The officer wiped some sweat from his forehead. “Can everybody stop shouting? We’re trying to straighten this out.”

Another officer hurried from the building. He whispered in the head ocer’s ear. Amy heard the word Interpol. The head officer turned to Irina. “Do you happen to know an Irina Spasky?”

“Never heard of this person.” Irina looked blank. “Spasky is common Russian name.”

“She’s Irina Spasky!” Amy yelled.

“This person is wanted by Interpol for … uh, various international crimes.” The officer consulted the list. “Dubrovnik, 2002, traveling under false passport. Soa, 1999, administering paralyzing poison to unidentified male. Sri Lanka …” The officer looked pale. “Crikey.”

“That’s her!” Dan cried. “Lock her up and throw away Russian key!”

Irina smiled. “Silly children. Tell me, officers, why aren’t you chasing criminals like this Spasky, not accusing poor Russian nanny trying to save children from kidnapper.”

The officer sighed. “So you say, ma’am.”

Shep began to talk to the ocer, explaining that he was Arthur Trent’s cousin and a respectable citizen with a ight plan and a plane he needed to take off in. He pulled Nellie into the discussion.

Irina turned to Amy and Dan. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I am here to help you. You are flying straight into a trap.”

“Hello? It seems to me that we’re already in one,” Dan said.

“Can’t resist chance to needle me,” Irina said. “I understand.”

“You’re the one with the needles,” Dan pointed out.

“We’re not going to get caught in your trap,” Amy said fiercely. “You probably thought you killed us back in that mine—”

“I was not involved in what happened,” Irina said. “I didn’t know what Isabel was planning until she did it. I would have stopped her if I could.”

“Liar!”

“Haven’t you figured out who your real enemy is yet?” Dan pointed to Irina. “Bingo!”

“Don’t go to Jakarta. If Isabel knows you’re there, she will kill you, do you understand?”

“And suddenly you’re some sort of grandma?” Dan asked scornfully. “Please. You would have killed us if you had the chance.”

“Amy.” Irina said her name quietly. Amy had never heard that tone in Irina’s voice. She couldn’t quite figure it out at first, but then she got it. The scorn was missing. “Isabel told you it was me who killed your parents. Correct?”

Amy only stared at her.

Dan’s head whipped from Irina to Amy and back again. “What did she just say?”

“She lied. She will lie about anything to get what she wants. Have you remembered more about that night?”

“Our parents were murdered?” Dan asked in a whisper. He turned his bewildered gaze on Amy. He looked like a lost little boy. It was exactly the look she had dreaded seeing.

“Yes,” Amy said. “I remember you.” She made the accusation coolly, hoping Irina would take the bait. Irina must have been there, even if she couldn’t remember her.

“But not just me, correct?”

“What is going on?” Dan’s voice wavered.

“Why?” Amy asked. She forced the words out around the tightness in her throat. “How could you do it?”

“I didn’t,” Irina said. “Yet, I was there.”

“That’s called accessory to murder,” Amy said.

Dan’s face had seemed to shrink in his bewilderment. He looked as though somebody had kicked him hard in the stomach.

Shep’s voice grew louder. “If you’d just let me back on my plane!”

“Not your plane, I think,” the officer said. “It is leased from a Mr. Gregory Tolliver, and we’re trying to contact him. Unfortunately, his mobile is off.”

“He’s a mate of mine,” Shep said. “He’ll vouch for me.”

“Well, if I can’t reach him, he can hardly do that.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Accessory, no,” Irina said rapidly to Amy. “I walked away. But at least one of us remained. Do you remember who?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Because you must remember.”

“You keep hinting that it’s Isabel. I know what you want me to say. So what’s the dierence between the two of you? She accuses you, and you accuse her.”

Irina’s face drained of color. “What is the difference between us,” she repeated. “I’m finding that out.”

“Can we go back to the lounge, please?” Nellie asked the officer. “This is very upsetting for the children.”

Irina’s hand gripped Amy’s wrist. “You must believe me—”

“Hey! Hands off my cousin!” Shep ordered. “Are you going to let her do that?” he said to the officer. For a split second, he looked at Amy. He raised his st and punched the air lightly. Family, Amy thought. It was like Shep was saying good-bye.

Irina dropped Amy’s hand, but she leaned in closer. “I cannot stop you,” she said rapidly. “But remember my warning. That’s the best I can hope for now.”

“All right,” the officer said to Nellie, distracted as Shep began arguing with Irina. “But don’t leave the lounge!”

Irina stood unmoving, her gaze on the plane. At any moment, Amy expected her to alert the ocers. But she just stood and watched.

Why was she just letting them go?

“Isabel told you that Irina killed our parents? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Our parents were murdered, and you found out who did it, and you didn’t tell me?”

“We don’t know it was Irina!”

“And you believe her?”

“I didn’t say that.” Dan’s mouth was set in a tight line. “Tell me what you remember. Obviously Irina knows.”

“No, she doesn’t! And I don’t remember much. It’s all weird ashes of stu. I remember hearing people’s voices, and going downstairs, and being afraid because a bunch of strangers were in the house. The voices sounded mean. And Isabel Kabra picked me up …” Amy gulped. She couldn’t tell Dan about the koalas. He was just absorbing the fact that their parents were murdered by some relative of theirs. What if he knew it was her fault?

“Dan,” she whispered. “I saw a rosemary plant! Remember Irina’s clue?”

Irina stayed behind as Isabel entered the shop. Isabel had hired a car, but Irina had been able to keep up on a motorcycle. She wore a disguise, but Isabel hadn’t taken any of the usual precautions, which meant that she felt safe in Jakarta.

Isabel had a canvas shopping bag that had started out empty and was now bulging with items. Irina had been able to get close enough with the scope in her camera to see what Isabel was buying.

This last item sent a chill through Irina. It was just as she suspected. Isabel had cunning, but not much imagination.

And so here it was. Her last stand would take place here. The power of the 39 Clues could not rest in Lucian hands if Isabel Kabra was the head of the branch.

What would the consequences be if she acted against her leader? She knew very well. She would be cast out. Every Lucian would know that she had betrayed the branch. Isabel and Vikram would make sure of that. They would make up a story, slant things their way. Everything she knew would be gone — money, connections, purpose. The world would become an empty place, and she would become a ghost.

She had no choice. She had to try. _What is the difference between you?_ Amy had asked.

This is the difference, Amy. There are some things I will not do. And there are some things I will not allow to happen. She turned and ran into Ian and Natalie.

Natalie smiled. Irina couldn’t see her eyes behind the black sunglasses.

“Good news. My countersurveillance indicates that your mother has not been tailed,” Irina said. Not by a flicker of an eyelash would she allow these two hooligans to see they’d unnerved her.

“I have more good news,” Natalie said. “Mother received new orders this morning.”

“And?”

Stealthily, Irina shot out a needle from each index finger. It would be easier to operate if these two were out of commission for a nice long while.

Natalie moved with such speed that Irina had time for only a flicker of astonishment. She’d always thought of the sulky girl as incapable of zeal. Natalie’s hand shot forward, grabbed Irina’s finger, and bent it back almost all the way. Irina felt white pain as her finger joint popped. And then the needle sank in.

“Wait!” Amy hung on to his sleeve. “Look!”

“Irina,” Dan said.

The smoke rolled and cleared, and they saw her running below, fast and strong, her legs pumping. She had a bamboo pole in her hand. As they watched in astonishment, she dug the pole into the ground and made a spectacular vault up to the roof.

They heard the soft thump as she landed. Amy leaned out. She could just make out Irina above. Irina slid the pole down and steadied it against the lip of the roof.

“What is the word?” she called to them. “Shimmy? Shimmy down the pole! One at a time, it’s not very strong.”

“Can we trust her?” Alistair asked Dan and Amy.

It was Amy who spoke. She kept her eyes on Irina’s intent face.

“Yes,” she said.

Dan went first. He wrapped his legs around the pole and half slid, half shimmied down. As soon as he hit the ground, Amy took a deep breath of relief.

“Go, Amy,” Alistair said.

Amy turned and put her hands on the pole. She looked up at Irina, who was lying at on the roof, steadying the pole with both hands. Irina winced, and Amy saw a red and swollen finger.

“Wait. Before you go,” Irina said. “Take this.”

She held out one hand. Amy reached up. Grace’s necklace dropped into her palm.

“Isabel did it again,” Irina said. “The first time, I walked away. Not this time. This time, I will not let her succeed. Now … everything is up to you and Dan. Go!”

The force of Irina’s words propelled Amy into action. She grabbed the bamboo pole. It felt hot against her hands, but she slid down.

She looked up at Alistair. He saluted Irina, then grabbed the pole and winced. Amy saw smoke curling up. The pole was starting to burn. Alistair quickly shimmied down, jumping o the last few feet.

The pole burst into flame. Slowly, it toppled down. Amy, Dan, and Alistair leaped out of the way as it crashed inches away from them.

“We need to nd another pole!” Alistair shouted.

They wrenched their eyes from the burning building. They scanned the area frantically, moving through the debris. Dan headed to search in the grove. Somewhere, they had to find something to save her.

From high above, Irina watched them. The roof was so hot now it was agony to stand on it. The smoke rolled across her and cleared. She felt so far away from them.

How hopeful they were. They didn’t know yet that it was too late.

Half the roof collapsed in a shower of sparks. Fire was roaring, eating up the wood beams. She inched away. She had only seconds. That was all right. She’d saved him. She’d saved her beloved boy.

No, not Nikolai. Dan. Dan and Amy.

She struggled to keep her mind clear. The smoke was burning her eyes, her throat. It was a great eort to keep standing. She would keep standing.

She would die a better person than she’d lived. That wasn’t too bad, for an ex-KGB spy, not to mention a Cahill.

_Look, they are still searching for a pole, hoping to save me. How nice to see that. Poor Alistair, he never liked me, but there was that one night in Seoul when he let down his guard and I let down mine, and we shared a bowl of bibimbap. One bowl, two spoons. Every time I clinked against his spoon by accident he would accuse me of irting with him. Finally, he got me to laugh…._

Sudden panic seized her. Was she really ready to let go of life? There was a way to live that was not her way—she’d had glimpses of it. With Nikolai and … a few others. What agony it was to let it go! It was letting go of possibility. Of a dream.

 _I hope they know it was worth it to me,_ she thought, staring at the Cahill children. _Remember what I said, children. Fear her. In your hands it all lies now._

The roof gave a great crack and roar — and collapsed. Irina cried out as she felt herself fall, and she looked up. She wanted her last sight to be the stars.

He had wandered off, and they knew he wanted to be alone. Irina had been his enemy, but he’d known her a long time. Maybe he wanted to mourn her.

Irina had been their enemy, too. Last night, she had saved their lives.

Amy touched the jade dragon on her necklace. Why? How could someone she’d thought of as pure evil have the goodness inside to sacrice her life for them?

Last night someone had stolen the poem. Alistair knew that much. He had awakened, smelled smoke, and immediately checked for the paper. They all knew it had to be Isabel. Alistair had heard the sound of a motor out on the water, but he hadn’t been able to see anything.

This morning they’d found the vessel that no doubt Irina had used, a small shing boat she’d probably paid someone to borrow back at the harbor.

“Irina said something else in the tunnel,” she said. “She asked me why Mom ran back into the house. Was it just for Daddy? What could be more important than their children?”

They looked at each other. Amy felt the presence of her parents, closer than they’d ever been, and the ghost of Irina saying, _It’s all up to you now._

She and Dan were together again. There were no secrets between them. There never would be again. She could see that he knew it. Behind his eyes, trust was back.

And on this sad morning, sitting on a tropical beach with ruins smoking behind them, with Irina’s last cry still ringing in their ears, they made a promise to each other without speaking. A vow. They wouldn’t rest until they had exposed who had murdered their parents.

She heard a distant rumble of thunder. As she glanced out to sea, her eyes stung. A tear washed a gray line down her cheek. How could a fire from last night still produce so much ash? It was only one building. A place where she and Dan and Alistair would have become charcoal if it weren’t for …

_Don’t think of her. Think about normal things. Peanut butter. Homework. TV. Saladin._

But images from last night were racing through her mind. The ames licking up the wall … Dan’s expression, like a frightened toddler … Alistair shouting to them … the call from out the window, from the last person they’d wanted to see … the woman who had almost murdered them in Russia.

_You thought she was trying to burn you alive last night. But she wasn’t. It wasn’t Irina._

Isabel Kabra had done it. She had burned down their house in Massachusetts all those years ago, and Dan and Amy’s parents hadn’t been able to escape. Now Isabel was finishing the job. She was a murderer. A Lucian killing machine in pearls and perfume.

Until last night, Isabel had been one of the two people Amy had feared most.

The other was the blond woman who had called up to them from below the ledge.

Yesterday, if you’d asked Amy to list the Predictions Least Likely Ever to Come True in a Million Years, right up there with The world will turn into cheese and My brother Dan will say he loves me, would have been this: Irina Spasky will sacrice herself— for us.

But Irina had leaped to the roof on a pole, into the flames. She had held that pole in front of their window so they could slide to safety. Then she had disappeared into the fire before Amy’s eyes. Why?

_How could a person change so much?_

As they neared the woods, Amy glimpsed the smoldering remains of the house. She turned away, not wanting to see. Not wanting to think about Irina.

Irina’s visit to the island would not be round-trip.

The thought made Amy stop in her tracks. “Why don’t we use Irina’s fishing boat?” she called out. “The police won’t recognize it.”

“Far too small,” Alistair said. “And I was the one who arrived on that boat, not Irina.”

“Then how—” Dan said. “Uncle Alistair, is there another dock on this island?”

“Well, now that you mention it …” Alistair stopped, catching his breath. “Many years ago I found the remnants of a small sailing vessel in a tiny cove to the north. Why do you ask?”

“We may nd our escape vessel there!” Amy blurted out. “If Irina didn’t dock here, she may have pulled into that cove!”

“You’re dropping things!” Dan scooped up a comb, mints, a handkerchief, and a small blue felt pouch.

The pouch had Russian writing on it.

“Whoa … is this Irina’s?” Dan reached in and lifted out a vial of bluish liquid.

Alistair turned, mopping his brow with his sleeve. “Er, well, I saw something on the ground last night. Outside the house. I wasn’t sure what it was, so …”

 _Irina’s poisons,_ Amy thought.

Alistair took the pouch and walked away, tucking it into his pocket. He was so calm. So logical.

_But … she died. These were her things. This is stealing._


	7. The Viper's Nest

She heard a distant rumble of thunder. As she glanced out to sea, her eyes stung. A tear washed a gray line down her cheek. How could a fire from last night still produce so much ash? It was only one building. A place where she and Dan and Alistair would have become charcoal if it weren’t for …

_Don’t think of her. Think about normal things. Peanut butter. Homework. TV. Saladin._

But images from last night were racing through her mind. The flames licking up the wall … Dan’s expression, like a frightened toddler … Alistair shouting to them … the call from out the window, from the last person they’d wanted to see … the woman who had almost murdered them in Russia.

_You thought she was trying to burn you alive last night. But she wasn’t. It wasn’t Irina._

Isabel Kabra had done it. She had burned down their house in Massachusetts all those years ago, and Dan and Amy’s parents hadn’t been able to escape. Now Isabel was finishing the job. She was a murderer. A Lucian killing machine in pearls and perfume.

Until last night, Isabel had been one of the two people Amy had feared most.

The other was the blond woman who had called up to them from below the ledge.

Yesterday, if you’d asked Amy to list the Predictions Least Likely Ever to Come True in a Million Years, right up there with The world will turn into cheese and My brother Dan will say he loves me, would have been this: Irina Spasky will sacrifice herself— for us.

But Irina had leaped to the roof on a pole, into the flames. She had held that pole in front of their window so they could slide to safety. Then she had disappeared into the fire before Amy’s eyes. Why?

_How could a person change so much?_

As they neared the woods, Amy glimpsed the smoldering remains of the house. She turned away, not wanting to see. Not wanting to think about Irina.

Irina’s visit to the island would not be round-trip.

The thought made Amy stop in her tracks. “Why don’t we use Irina’s fishing boat?” she called out. “The police won’t recognize it.”

“Far too small,” Alistair said. “And I was the one who arrived on that boat, not Irina.”

“Then how—” Dan said. “Uncle Alistair, is there another dock on this island?”

“Well, now that you mention it …” Alistair stopped, catching his breath. “Many years ago I found the remnants of a small sailing vessel in a tiny cove to the north. Why do you ask?”

“We may nd our escape vessel there!” Amy blurted out. “If Irina didn’t dock here, she may have pulled into that cove!”

“You’re dropping things!” Dan scooped up a comb, mints, a handkerchief, and a small blue felt pouch.

The pouch had Russian writing on it.

“Whoa … is this Irina’s?” Dan reached in and lifted out a vial of bluish liquid.

Alistair turned, mopping his brow with his sleeve. “Er, well, I saw something on the ground last night. Outside the house. I wasn’t sure what it was, so …”

 _Irina’s poisons,_ Amy thought.

Alistair took the pouch and walked away, tucking it into his pocket. He was so calm. So logical.

_But … she died. These were her things. This is stealing._

Not that he blamed her. Everything was confusing, and confusion made Amy mad. Even their motto — Trust no one — couldn’t be trusted. Irina was bad, then good. Nellie was good, then (maybe) bad. Alistair was in a class by himself. Plus, they didn’t know where they were going next. And the ride was nauseating.

Take deep breaths. Think cheerful. Think funny.

A lot of help that strategy had been. No one was laughing at his jokes. But jokes were the only way to get relief from yesterday. From the memory of Irina.

He couldn’t stop hearing her last words — “Everything is up to you and Dan. Go!”—or seeing her face. She was reaching up from under the sea, staring down from the storm clouds, crying on the wind.

Saladin was already scratching at something in the space between the chest and the wall. He managed to slide out a small oval-shaped tin. A rancid, fishy smell wafted upward and Dan felt his stomach lurch. As Saladin eagerly began licking out the slimy black contents, Dan noticed the tin’s label: GENUINE RUSSIAN SEVRUGA CAVIAR.

Irina’s snack.

Why did Russians like such disgusting food?

_Breathe. In. Out._

_You will not get sick._

Dan opened the chest and found a stack of white towels, along with ropes, blankets, and notebooks. As he pulled out a towel, he stopped cold. Next to the stack was a leather shoulder bag engraved with the letters INS.

Irina N. Spasky.

Dan pulled it out and quietly shut the top.

The door to the cabin flew open, startling Arif. Amy barged in, soaked and angry looking. “There you are! I thought you’d hurled too many chunks and fallen off the edge of the boat.”

Glancing at Arif, Dan tucked the shoulder bag under his arm. He pulled Amy outside to a rain-sheltering overhang. “Before you say anything that makes me feel even more special, look at this,” Dan said.

Amy gasped when she saw the bag. “It’s Irina’s!”

Dan opened it and riffled through the contents — some makeup, a telescope shaped like a lipstick container, some suspicious-looking vials, a leather notebook …

“What’s this?” Amy said, pulling out a thin leather wallet. Tucked inside was a stack of rubber-banded cards. Quickly, she unwrapped the bands and thumbed through. The top card made her flinch — a copy of her own United States Social Security card. Under it were copies of Ian’s and Natalie’s school IDs, an ID card for each Holt, a Burrit-Oh! business card with a photo of a much-younger Alistair…. “Dan, this is scary. She had IDs for everyone on the hunt!”

From the bottom of the wallet, she pulled out three small ziplock plastic bags. Each contained thin plastic squares resembling microscope slides. “What the —?”

But Dan was intent on the leather notebook. “Check this out!” he said, examining a page full of scribbled phone numbers, calculations, and notes in Russian.

Amy repacked the wallet and stuffed it into her backpack. “I don’t understand a word of this….” She leafed through to the very last page and stopped.

“We know what the ‘thirty-nine’ means,” Dan said. “She was collecting information about the clues. Maybe this involves our next destination. Maybe she was going to give this to us — to help us!”

Amy’s eyes watered. “She was on our side, Dan. How is that fair? Why hadn’t she told us? Was she just pretending to be bad, or did she have a change of heart?”

Dan tried to smile. “Typical Lucian, huh? Sneaky and unpredictable.”

“I can’t believe you said that!” Amy snapped. “She saved our lives!”

“Okay,” Dan said, “the thing Amy said — ‘I’m with you and you’re with me’ — it was a message Irina left. Probably a code, I’m thinking.”

Nellie laughed. “Shut up! Irina said that?” She began flipping through her iPod playlists.

“You know it?” Amy asked incredulously.

“Voilà!” Nellie said, holding out the iPod screen.

Dan squinted at the album. “Velvet Cesspool …?”

“The best. Band. Ever!” Nellie contorted her face into a pained expression and began to sing:

_“I’m with you and you’re with me!_   
_And so we are all together!_   
_So we are all together! So we are all together!_   
_We are marching to Peoria! Peoria! Peoria!_   
_We are marching to Peoria!_   
_Peoria, hoo-RARRRRRAAAGGGHHHHHHHHH!”_

“Huh?” Dan scratched his head. “I’m thinking Irina was more into, like, gloomy Russian church music.”

Nellie held out the iPod toward Amy. “It’s the album Amputation for Beginners,” she said. “Third song, ‘The Tracks of My Spit.’ Go ahead, listen.”

Amy inserted the earbuds. For a moment, her face got all lemony and puckered, which Dan found fun to watch. But soon she grinned and said, “Dan, don’t you see? Our next destination is in the lyric! That’s what Irina was trying to tell us, but she didn’t have the chance to finish. It’s right there at the end of the verse — the place they’re marching to in the song!”

“Hey, we decoded the message,” Nellie said. “Plus, there are two Cahill Cluesters who know the song. Irina wrote down the words, and Alistair sang it in the Harvard Glee Club. It’s a lock, dude.”

As the police van jounced along a road west of Jakarta, he carefully adjusted the metal shackle so it was over the cuff of his Egyptian-cotton shirt. This sort of thing was a good distraction from the chaos in his brain. Nothing made sense anymore — how could Irina Spasky be dead? Why had she saved him and the children?

He had only been able to stare in disbelief. He had been a coward, just as he’d been seven years ago …

“Isabel Kabra has killed Spasky,” said the voice. “She is getting angry. And sloppy. I have picked up an intercept on her phone. We must close ranks. We need you.”

The professor barreled through a red light. A horn blared in his ear and he slammed on his brakes. As he swerved through the intersection, the sounds of motorists’ curses rose up behind him like barking dogs.

“How on earth — how did Irina die?” he shouted.

“While saving the children’s lives!”

“What?”

“Where are you?” the other voice demanded.

The professor closed the phone. Could it be?

He pulled to the side of the road and let his breathing ease. Focus was necessary. For his own safety. For the safety of his fellow drivers. And, perhaps, for the peaceful end to a half millennium of needless violence.

_Irina came to her senses. Irina is dead._

The chase was heating up. Loyalties were fraying.

“It’s a traditional song, performed by choruses all over the world,” Amy continued. “Including the Harvard Glee Club. That’s what Uncle Alistair was trying to tell us — the real lyric is Pretoria. In South Africa. It’s much more likely Irina knew the lyrics to the original. She was telling us to go here.”

_He was willing to save our lives. He was about to jump off a ledge for us, until Irina arrived._

“And the document was from Pretoria — as in ‘Marching to Pretoria,’ ” Dan said. “The song Irina quoted? It pointed to where the document was. But Grace got there first!”

“Irina turned out to have a good soul,” Dan said. “And she was capable of very bad things.”

Amy put her hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Irina found her goodness late. Mom and Dad already had it.”

_Irina’s wallet._

Amy froze. If he looked inside it, he’d suspect something.

She crept closer. The door had a small, shiny, rectangular panel near the latch. On a hunch, she pulled out Irina’s wallet from her pack. She flipped through the plastic ID cards until she came to Reagan Holt’s. Carefully, she held it up to the panel.

“Exactly,” Amy said. “Okay, remember Irina’s wallet, with all the IDs? She had one for each of the Holts.” Looking left and right, she pulled out three plastic ID cards, one each for Hamilton, Reagan, and Madison. “When I put Reagan’s card against the screen on this door, her name registered.”

But Isabel just shook her head sadly. “Animal. This is a strong word for someone who murdered Irina Spasky.”

“Me — murder?—it was YOU!” Amy shouted.


	8. The Emporer's Code

“I have all the truth I need!” Amy seethed. “She set fire to your house in Java, and now Irina’s gone! She did the same thing seven years ago!"

A fire. Wasn’t that the Cahill way! His parents, Grace’s home, cousin Irina barely a week ago. He could still see her as she fell, as the flaming beach house caved in around her. It was a terrible image — one that had returned to him, unbidden, over and over again since that awful night.

Dan had witnessed a lot since Grace’s funeral. But that was the first time he’d ever watched someone die. He remembered Irina’s face and couldn’t help but wonder if his parents had looked like that when their final moment had come.


	9. Storm Warning

“It’s not like with Irina.”

From the backseat of the car, Dan’s voice was barely above a whisper.

The doctor who had signed off on Dan’s chart that morning said there was nothing physically wrong with him, but that he might feel a little woozy from the sedative given to him in the night. “Good food, sunshine, relaxation, that’s my prescription,” the doctor declared.

No, Amy had thought. That won’t do it. What Dan needs is to rewind everything, back to a time when Lester was still alive. Looking at her brother’s pale, exhausted face, Amy knew exactly what he meant about Irina.

Irina had chosen to be part of the Clue hunt. She had known about both the rewards and the risks and had made the deliberate decision to participate despite the potential dangers. She had died in full knowledge that her death was a consequence of the battle over the Clues.

“She’s dead,” Dan said in the same old–before–his–time voice. “She’s dead, Lester’s dead, Irina’s dead….”

Mom and Dad are dead, Amy finished in her head. Back in Jamaica, they’d counted all those deaths as reasons to complete the Clue hunt. Lester had been an innocent bystander, drawn into things only because he’d been willing to help. Irina was a former enemy who’d given her life to save Amy and Dan. And the children’s parents had gone to their deaths trying to save a single Clue from falling into the wrong hands.

What did any of those deaths mean if Amy and Dan didn’t keep trying?


	10. Into the Gauntlet

“She’s dead,” Dan said in the same old–before–his–time voice. “She’s dead, Lester’s dead, Irina’s dead….”

Mom and Dad are dead, Amy finished in her head. Back in Jamaica, they’d counted all those deaths as reasons to complete the Clue hunt. Lester had been an innocent bystander, drawn into things only because he’d been willing to help. Irina was a former enemy who’d given her life to save Amy and Dan. And the children’s parents had gone to their deaths trying to save a single Clue from falling into the wrong hands.

What did any of those deaths mean if Amy and Dan didn’t keep trying?

He remembered how his mother had treated Irina Spasky, who’d been loyal until almost the very end of her life.

_She wasn’t a Kabra. Mum and Dad have a code of conduct—the Kabras are the only ones that matter. It’s just their way. Yes, they can be ruthless with everyone else, but really, they’re doing it for their family. For Natalie and me._

Ian turned over the second-to-last piece of paper in the le and was surprised to nd that the last sheet had nothing to do with the deaths of Hope Cahill and Arthur Trent. Rather, it was a report his mother had written about the death of Irina Spasky.

“She completely betrayed us,” his mother wrote. “She disobeyed a direct order from me and went to rescue Alistair Oh and Amy and Dan Cahill when I told her they had to be eliminated….”

Eliminated. Just a few weeks ago, his mother had tried, in cold blood, to murder Alistair and Amy and Dan. Not by mistake, not as collateral damage, but intentionally. Ian scanned the entire document. The murder attempt wasn’t even a bargaining chip, something threatened in exchange for her actual goal. It was carefully planned — a goal in and of itself.

And Irina had died in the others’ place.

“When I saw what Irina was doing, I could have gone back and rescued her,” Isabel had written. “But why bother?”

So cold. A woman’s life dismissed in three words.

It wasn’t that Ian had had any great sentimental attachment to Irina Spasky. She’d threatened to use her poison fingernails a few too many times to be close or cuddly with anyone. But there’d been a moment years ago when Ian was little, when she’d said to him quite wistfully, “Do you suppose you could call me Auntie Irina? You’re the same age now as another little boy I once knew….”

She’d covered her mouth immediately with her hands, as if she hadn’t actually meant to say that. And Ian had certainly never called her Auntie. With his parents’ encouragement, he had treated her like a servant, slightly beneath his notice. But she had served his family faithfully for years. Even Irina Spasky didn’t deserve to be left to her death with the words Why bother?

Furrowing his brow, Ian flipped back and forth between the papers describing the three deaths. Something was different. The faint hint of remorse that came across in the earlier papers was completely missing in connection to Irina Spasky. It was like his mother wasn’t even capable of remorse anymore — not remorse or guilt or doubt or loyalty to anyone but herself.

It was funny—just that one sniff made Ian determined that Natalie would never have to find out what he’d just learned about their parents. He never wanted her reading about how Irina Spasky had died.

“We’re just servants to them,” Ian said. “Minions. Like” — he swallowed hard — “like Irina.”

Had Miss Alice already erected a tombstone for Lester? Would anybody put one up for Irina Spasky?

Don’t think about any of that right now, Amy told herself. She could tell that Nellie, beside her, had begun silently rereading the tombstone for the umpteenth time, and Amy did the same. Good friend for Jesus’ sake forbear …

_Lester,_ Dan thought weakly, his head still woozy from the asthma attack. Or maybe it would be woozy regardless. _Lester, Irina, Mom and Dad. And now …_

Amy didn’t like holding re any more than she’d liked smelling the perfume. Each leaping flame reminded her of that awful night her parents died, that awful night Irina died.

Each word felt like a betrayal of everything they’d worked for during the entire Clue hunt. Dan wasn’t just giving up ingredients. He was giving up the trust Grace had placed in them, the hopes the Madrigals had held for them, the dreams his parents had died for. He was giving up the chance to win in honor of Lester’s sacrifice, Irina’s sacrifice, his parents’.

“You drank the Lucian serum and it just made you mean,” Natalie said. “Mean to everyone, even me and Ian. And it made you kill Irina, and you didn’t care—”

“I didn’t drink the Lucian serum until after I killed Irina,” Isabel said. “I’ve always been mean. The Lucian serum just showed me how to do it effectively—how to win. It’s why I’m holding the full Cahill serum right now.”

_This is how I honor my parents and Irina and Lester_ , Amy thought, running hard. _Even if I die, too …_

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Alistair said. He held up a small white pill. “Something developed by our friend Irina Spasky. This will keep Isabel unconscious for several hours. And”— he raised an eyebrow significantly —“it will ensure that she forgets what happened today.”

Amy remembered all the times she’d felt like she and Dan were being watched, the times she’d sensed someone following them, the times she’d heard suspicious footsteps in the dark. But that had always turned out to be Irina or Isabel or even Fiske himself, back when they thought of him as the man in black.


	11. Mission Titanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's to praying that the Spasky family isn't mentioned in the Vespers or Unstoppable series! If they are, please let me know.

Patricia Oh. Magnus Hansen. Someone he didn’t recognize, a dark-haired, handsome man in his forties. He was keeping his head turned away slightly, and he wore tinted glasses. And was that man in black-framed round glasses Toby Griffon, the renowned architect? Next to him sat Melinda Toth, the Lucian billionaire businesswoman.

“How about this guy?” Ian pointed to the man they hadn’t been able to ID. “Notice how he’s keeping his face averted? He knew where the cameras are.”

“I don’t recognize him,” Amy said.

“Mercy is a swift sword,” Alek Spasky said. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed in a yoga pose. He was dressed in a pair of loose pants and a tunic. He smiled at the group.

Funny thing about that smile. His eyes never warmed. Those cold, dark eyes. The same chilling gaze his sister had.

Who knew that Irina Spasky had a brother?

The Outcast did. He’d scoured the world, and finally located him in a Zen retreat in California.

Even the monks had looked relieved to see him go.

“And this plan to re-create disasters? It seems extreme,” Toby said. “Excess pressure can bring down even the mightiest of structures.”

“Did the Buddha say that?” Alek asked.

“No, I did.”

“Very deep,” Alek said, but his mouth twisted in another of those chilling smiles. Toby flushed as he felt the sting of the sarcasm.

“Toby does have a point,” Patricia said. “I can’t control my branch if there is too much dissent. We’ve always operated by stealth. This could be too public.”

It was a struggle to keep the smile on his face. _Traitor!_ He wanted to scream at Patricia. He had recruited her, groomed her, helped her gain her power. Now she was challenging him? He was certainly rethinking helping make her branch leader.

Alek stood and walked to the silver pots of coffee and hot water. He took a tea bag from his pocket and placed it in a cup, then poured steaming water over it. The Outcast noted the missing tip of his pinkie finger. He must have gotten a bit too close to a sharp blade. “If you two aren’t prepared to risk, what are you doing here?” Alek asked in a mild tone. “You approved the plan. If you can’t summon up the nerve to follow through …”

“Now, hold on a second,” Toby said. “I didn’t say —”

Patricia’s voice was like a cracking whip. “Are you calling me a coward, you Russian airhead?” She turned to the Outcast. “I won’t be insulted! I told you not to bring him in! He’s unstable; everyone knows that!”

The Outcast said nothing. It was better to let them fight it out. See who won. It would be instructive.

“Go back to your mountaintop!” Patricia sneered at Alek. “We don’t need you!”

Alek put down his teacup. His fingers moved faster than the Outcast could track. From within his bell-like sleeve he withdrew a steel rod. He twirled it on a finger, so fast it was a blur. The rod flew from his fingers and, spinning and glinting, sped across the room and speared Patricia’s hair ornament, lifting it off her head and then pinning it to the wall behind her. Patricia’s hair slipped to one side, and the Outcast realized it was a wig. Toby burst out laughing.

Patricia reached up and readjusted the wig, never taking her eyes off Alek. “You are despicable,” she hissed.

“I don’t like it when people insult me,” Alek said, turning and sipping his tea. “Don’t do it again.”

The Outcast smiled. It had been worth it to track down Alek. He turned to the others. “The game has begun. The children will be looking into my background. That will be a bore, but it must be handled. There could be some remaining tracks to cover.”

“I doubt that,” Patricia said huffily. “I was meticulous. Unlike others, I know what I’m doing.” She shot Alek Spasky a venomous look.

The Outcast said nothing. He watched as Alek sipped his tea. Dear, ruthless Alek. He would come in handy very soon.

“What about him?” Nellie asked, zooming in to the man they couldn’t identify. “We don’t have a clear shot of his face.”

Fiske tilted the tablet toward himself. He zoomed in to the man’s hand. “Bad news. See that missing finger joint on his pinkie? That’s Irina Spasky’s brother, Aleksander. Irina was a cupcake compared to him.”

“I didn’t know she even had a brother,” Nellie said.

“He was never an active Lucian. All photos of him mysteriously vanished shortly after his disappearance.” Fiske clasped his hands together and bent forward, his face creased in anxiety. “He was an assassin for the KGB.”

Near a fountain with squealing children, she saw a different man enter the park. He looked like every other tourist, in a white shirt and a Panama hat that shadowed his features. Had she noticed him before on the street? Something in the way he moved made her take a second look. She flashed back to the busy street. He’d been the pedestrian munching on a sweet from the vendor. Now as he walked, she noted a coiled energy about him that he was trying to disguise with an ambling stride.

Too far away to get a photo, and the hat shadowed his face. Nellie suddenly felt a prick of foreboding. She’d learned to trust her instincts.

“Let’s go this way.” She pulled Sammy off the path. If they cut through this grove of trees, it should bring them closer to the train station.

Within a few steps, it was as though they’d plunged into a deep tropical forest. The trees were planted thickly here, and the branches shut out the last of the light and cut off the sounds of the park. Nellie could hear some children playing a game, but the sound seemed far away. They were alone.

It seemed as though nobody in Singapore ever strayed off the neat pathways.

Except …

Nellie stopped.

“Sammy, did you hear that? Footsteps?”

“No.” Sammy cocked his head. “Nothing.”

They walked again. This time, when she heard the rustle she stopped and whirled around.

Nothing.

She reached for Sammy’s hand. She suddenly regretted striking off the path. They continued to walk, faster this time. The rustling continued.

“Hey there,” someone crooned.

But there was no one there.

Sammy squeezed her hand, pulling her along.

“Nel-lie …” The voice sent a chill of fear through her. Sammy gave her a startled glance.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said in a low voice.

They were walking fast now, almost running. Nellie could hear the footsteps, but she couldn’t tell where they were, or where the voice was coming from. The trees cast deep green shadows. Was that rustling a bird in the leaves, or their pursuer? She didn’t want to be scared. She’d been in tough situations before. This was just a voice.

A voice that knew her.

Then suddenly, the man in the hat was ahead of them, only yards away. “Nosy girls should be careful.”

Nellie was about to fling out a reply when she was distracted by a flash of silver. The man was spinning a steel rod around and around in his hand, so fast she only saw a blur. The rod was attached to a thick metal ring on his third finger. His pinkie finger was missing a joint.

She had time to notice those things, but no time to react before his hand flicked, and the rod turned out to be a foot-long spear hurtling cleanly through the air. It passed between her and Sammy and thwacked into a tree. It had been so close she’d felt it tickle the hair near her ear. If she had turned, had even flinched …

“Relax. If I’d wanted to hit you, I would have.”

Sammy surged toward the man.

“SAMMY, NO!” Nellie shouted. She leaped forward and grabbed him with both hands. “No,” she whispered. “No.” She saw the second weapon in the man’s hand, twirling.

“Don’t even think of it, boyfriend. Next time I won’t miss.”

Sammy went still, but she heard his harsh breathing.

“Just a warning, this time,” he said softly. “Go home, kiddos. I mean, all the way home. Back to the States. Or next time, it will be in your back.

That evening at the Chens’, Nellie unwrapped the weapon from her scarf and studied it. It was a steel spear about a foot long, with a menacingly sharp blade on each end. In the center was a rotating ring.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said. “What is it?” She held it up.

“No idea,” Sammy said. “I just know it was almost in your head.” He put his arms around her. “Will you lose all respect for me when I tell you I was scared?”

“I was scared, too. You almost got yourself killed trying to tackle him.”

“I wanted to kill him.”

Nellie rested her head against his shoulder. “He would have killed you.”

“At that moment, I didn’t care.”

Nellie drew back. “Sammy, he knew my name.”

“I know. I don’t like this.”

“Did you notice that he called us kiddos? That’s what I call Amy and Dan.”

“Coincidence?”

“No.” Nellie shook her head. “It was a threat, I’m sure of it. Remember how he emphasized it? He wanted me to know that the inner circle was invaded. There’re only a few people who know I call Amy and Dan kiddos. And I trust all of them.” She looked at him worriedly. “It was a threat just as much as the spear was.” She carefully wrapped her scarf around it. “The first thing we have to do is figure out what exactly this is.”

It was too cold to walk slowly. Ian risked a quicker pace, coming up behind the crew member, who opened a door to the main passageway and passed through. Ian followed, glad to feel the warmth of the ship.

The crew member headed for the stairway, whistling a tune.

Whistling.

Bad luck.

No crew member would whistle aboard a ship.

Ian studied the man’s stride, the way he moved, keeping his chin slightly angled and away from the passengers as they walked by. Something about him was familiar. Very familiar.

Nellie had filled him in on Fiske’s identification of the mystery guy.

It was Alek Spasky

“One second,” Ian said. “I saw Alek Spasky aboard the ship.”

“Are you sure?” Amy asked. “But why would he be there, too?”

“If I were running this operation, I’d have a backup, wouldn’t you?” Ian said. “He’s probably got a plan to disembark, but considering we have no time and there’s a trained assassin running around, the odds are not in our favor. There’s a strong possibility we won’t make it. So … there’s no reason for all of us to go. I just came here to make sure you were all right. I have emergency supplies in the Zodiac that I can leave with you. Cara knows where we are. Some of us can be rescued. All of us, in fact. Except for one.”

And a metal spear whistled through the air and thudded into the side of the Zodiac.

“Get DOWN!” Ian shouted, and they all ducked as another spear whistled past them and thudded into the opposite side of the boat. Ian yanked out the spear. It had a ring in the middle. Cara had sent him a photograph. It was the same weapon that had killed Rollo Hardcastle.

Dan and Hamilton flattened themselves on the sides of the boat. Amy had slid down to the wood planks at the bottom, keeping her hand on the steering mechanism and her face forward. Her face was pale, her lips pressed together.

“There are air compartments in the boat!” Hamilton shouted. “We won’t sink!”

Unless he shoots out too many compartments and they fill with water, Ian thought. Too many to stay afloat.

Just like the Titanic.

The bow was deflating as the boat bumped over the sea. Ian lifted his head to peer behind them, through the pelting snow.

Another Zodiac was chasing them down, its bow lifted with its speed. Ian could see Alek Spasky at the helm, steering with one hand. The other held something spinning….

“DOWN!” Ian shouted.

Amy zigzagged to the left, and they jounced against the boat. This time the spear punctured the boat just inches from Ian’s head. He could hear the hiss of air as the cushion deflated.

Seconds later, another spear punctured the stern.

He was going to shoot out the compartments, one by one.

Alek must have a plan. Maybe he was supposed to leave on the same helicopter as Tagamayer. He wouldn’t re-board the Titanic II now. He wouldn’t want to blow up with the ship. He would sink them, and then watch the ship blow.

Because the Zodiac was sinking. It was dotted with spears and was low in the water, flabby and losing air by the second. Dan’s face was grim, and Hamilton looked at the Titanic II as though he could physically tug it closer to them with his gaze.

Ian looked at the ice floes in the gray water. How long could one last in water this cold? Ian had read that experts estimated that some of the Titanic passengers had lasted twenty minutes in the ocean, but this water was even colder. And there were those predatory leopard seals that might make the experience even more unpleasant.

He thought of the victims of the first Titanic disaster, the shock of hitting that freezing water, the temperatures that shut down their body systems as they desperately tried to stay afloat….

“We’re going to make it!” he cried. “Just keep going!”

But they weren’t going to make it. The massive iceberg was to their right, preventing Amy from escaping that way. Alek’s boat was now to their left. Ian stared at the massive iceberg. Through a narrow tunnel in the ice he could see whirling snow on the other side. Up this close, he could see how the surface of the berg was fractured and uneven and contained shades of blue that were unearthly in their beauty. As he watched, a crack above widened and a chunk broke off to fall with a spectacular crash into the sea.

He felt a jolt of fear. If they’d been closer, it would have sunk them. Another spear thudded into the right side of the boat. Only three compartments were still inflated.

“DOWN!” Ian shouted, and another spear hit.

Amy turned the boat to the right and Ian glanced nervously at the iceberg. He could see fissures widening into cracks, and cracks widening into fractures. If Amy got any closer, they’d be in danger.

“Amy, I think the iceberg is calving!” he yelled. “Watch it!”

Amy glanced over, her eyes roaming over the berg. “I’m going to try something!” she yelled. Ian could hear the terror and desperation in her voice.

“Everybody … just hang on tight! Ian, tell me when Spasky spins the spear!”

Ian twisted, hanging on while keeping his gaze fixed on Alek. Alek dipped his hand down into the Zodiac, then Ian saw the glint of metal, spinning and gathering velocity….

“NOW!” he yelled.


	12. Mission Hindenburg

“I’m confirming what I suspected,” she told him. “This bomb type is one favored by KGB agents decades ago. It’s been used in Russian mafia bombings as well.”

“Alek Spasky, Irina’s brother, was a KGB assassin,” Ian said. “And we know he’s in league with the Outcast.”

Ian looked over Cara’s shoulder out the rear window. The traffic on the side streets they were taking back to Jonah’s wasn’t so bad. A few cars changed lanes behind them. One turned on to the street, another turned off. Nothing suspicious. Ham was being very careful to obey the speed limit.

Still, if Alek Spasky was following them, it would be hard to tell. The man was an expert at espionage and murder, and Hamilton Holt was a teenager who had taken a three-day defensive driving course.

No one followed and Ian let out a sigh of relief. He was not eager to come across Alek Spasky again. The last time, the assassin had nearly killed them all.

“If the Outcast was someone Grace expelled from the family, someone who had knowledge of KGB sleeper agents like Alek Spasky, there’s probably a connection to Moscow,” Cara added. “And any Cahill-KGB connection would’ve had Lucian fingerprints all over it. If there are clues to who he really is, I bet they’re in the Lucian stronghold in Moscow.”

The pale face and steel blue eyes of Alek Spasky filled the screen.

“So they followed the clues?” the Outcast asked him.

“Exactly as you wanted them to,” he said. “I lost them, however, as they were leaving the airfield. Would you like me to reacquire them in Athens?” Spasky asked.

“There is no need,” the Outcast said. “I have plenty of agents in place to keep them occupied. I need you to go to Moscow.”

“Moscow?” Alek pursed his lips. “I haven’t been home in years.”

“I think you’ll enjoy this visit,” the Outcast told him. “You once told me you held Amy and Dan responsible for the death of your sister, Irina.”

“I do,” Alek responded.

“Well, you will get your chance to take from them someone they care for,” the Outcast told him. “Nellie Gomez and the Mourad boy are snooping into my business and I would like them stopped.”

“Killing two birds with one stone,” Alek said with a joyless grin.

“Three, actually,” the Outcast added. “It’s not enough merely to stop the two of them. I believe it’s time to take care of that entire viper’s nest lurking below the Kremlin.”

The smile that broke across Alek’s face this time looked positively gleeful.

“Turn here.” Sammy pulled her to the left, away from the ticket booth. “We’re being watched.”

Nellie glanced around her hoodie and the hair on her neck prickled at what she saw. There was a man trailing them through the crowd. He wore a loose-fitting wool overcoat and wool watch cap pulled over his head, but his face was clear. His cold blue eyes locked with hers. Then she saw a small steel rod drop from his sleeve and begin twirling around his finger, faster and faster, a blur of metal.

Alek Spasky, ex-KGB assassin, Irina Spasky’s brother, and the Outcast’s merciless button man, had warned them that the next time he saw them, they’d get one of his steel rods in the back.

When Nellie’s eyes met his again, he winked.

And the steel rod flew from his fingertips.

Nellie dove, knocking Sammy to the ground. The rod whizzed past them and sparked off a marble column, leaving a gash in the grand monument to Soviet architecture. Nellie popped up to her feet and pulled Sammy back up to his.

“Vandal!” Nellie shouted, pointing at the damaged pillar and at the man with the steel rod, another of which was already twirling on his finger. She hoped the word vandal sounded enough like the Russian word for vandal to get the attention of the surrounding tourists.

Almost immediately, people began to call out for the police. The crowd swarmed the mysterious man, shouting at him. He began to knock them off, weaving and chasing after Nellie and Sammy through the crowd, but he was overwhelmed by angry Muscovites grabbing at his sleeves. The police began to make their way over.

“I guess he did us a favor,” said Nellie as Alek’s face disappeared into the swarming crowd.

“If you call trying to kill us a favor,” Sammy replied.

“No,” said Nellie. “But look.”

Nellie whipped her head around and saw that she was safe, and Sammy, too. When she looked forward again, it was to see a shiny black shoe step on the bright red cover of the file. Nellie met the cold blue eyes of Alek Spasky, a steel spike twirling on the end of his fingers.

“Hello again,” he said. “Doing some light reading?”

Alek sat on the edge of a large steel desk opposite Nellie and Sammy, whom he’d handcuffed to the chairs he’d pushed them into.

“Did you have a chance to peruse the file?” he asked, gently waving the Nathaniel Hartford in Nellie’s direction so the breeze of the file made her hair sway. He moved with the cool grace of a dancer, every gesture deliberate and controlled. “Shall I enlighten you?”

He smiled and opened the pages. He held it up the way elementary school teachers hold up picture books during the read-aloud time. There were a few more photos of the handsome man shopping for flowers in a Cambodian market, driving a motorcycle through Beijing, and laughing with a younger Grace Cahill on a bench. The younger Grace Cahill looked so much like Amy that Nellie gasped.

“These are surveillance photos,” Alek explained. “The KGB was pursuing Nathaniel Hartford as a possible double agent during the Cold War.” He turned the page. “Sadly, they determined he was incorruptible.” Nellie thought she detected a touch of admiration in Alek Spasky’s voice.

“Ah, now to the good stuff,” Alek said as he turned to another page, read quietly to himself, then held up the file for them to see. Across the top of a memo, written in English, ran a big red stamp that said:

_**(See end notes)** _

“Merely reading this memo could make a person an Outcast,” Alek observed. He raised his eyebrows at Nellie and smirked. “I am willing to risk it, I think. You?”

“Why are you showing us this?” Nellie asked. “Is this one of those thebad-guy-reveals-his-plans-before-he-kills-us moments? Because I should tell you, those sorts of things never end well for the bad guy.”

Alek cracked his neck to the left and then the right. He rolled his shoulders back, then stood. The calm of his face had transformed to a redhot rage. “I am not the bad guy here, Nellie Gomez. You are.”

Nellie narrowed her eyes at him.

“If not for the lot of you, my sister, Irina, would still be alive,” he told her. His hand shook with anger.

“Irina died a hero!” Nellie told him. “She died saving Amy’s and Dan’s lives. She’d be disgusted to see what you’re doing now.”

Alek raised a hand as if to slap her. Nellie braced herself, but he regained his calm and let his hand fall again to his side. He straightened his shirt.

“And yet she is not here,” he said. “I had no desire to get involved with the Cahill family. That sort of intrigue never excited me like it did Irina. I worked for the KGB, of course, and did my duty to Mother Russia, but as for the Lucian branch? Pffft.” He waved his hand in the air like he was swatting flies. “I never had any interest … until the Outcast came to me and offered me a chance to avenge Irina’s death.”

“So you are going to kill us?” Nellie asked. She could feel Sammy shift in his chair beside her. But she had to focus on Alek. The more time he spent talking, the more chance there would be of escape. If he was talking, he wasn’t killing them, and the former was definitely preferable to the latter.

Alek flashed her an insincere smile. “Now, if you’ll please read this memo, I think all will become clear to you.”

He held up the file, and Nellie and Sammy leaned forward in unison to read. As they read, Nellie felt a chill rising up her spine. The more she read, the colder she got.

_**(Read end note)** _

Alek flipped the page silently. The next page of the file showed an article from a newspaper that described the accidental death of a Mr. Nathaniel Hartford, late husband of Grace Cahill of Attleboro, Massachusetts.

“ ‘Mr. Hartford was said to have died while traveling on a cultural exchange mission in Moscow,’ ” Alek read. “ ‘Several witnesses reported seeing him slip or perhaps be shoved into the freezing Moscow River. He never surfaced, and though his body was never found, Russian authorities declared him dead, as no one could survive in the icy waters of the Moscow River in February.’ ”

“Grace — she —” Nellie stammered, shocked.

“She killed her own husband,” Alek finished the sentence. “Well, she ordered my father, Vladimir, to do it. And when it came time to help him out, was Grace to be found? Ha! She looked out for herself alone. When my father was sentenced to spend the rest of his life in Lefortovo Prison on charges that he was some kind of gangster hit man, no Cahill came to testify on his behalf. No Lucian strings were pulled. No action was taken at all, and now he rots in prison, while the real criminal died peacefully in her bed and her descendants run free causing mayhem in their wake.”

“If Grace Cahill wanted Nathaniel Hartford dead, there had to be a good reason for it,” Nellie said. She felt tears welling in her own eyes. She couldn’t believe that the woman who had hired her and entrusted her to care for her kiddos had ordered her own husband — their grandfather — assassinated. How could she have been so cruel?

“It is hard when our heroes fall, yes?” said Alek. He stood and set the file down on the desk. Then he pulled a large suitcase out from behind it and opened the case. Inside, there were two canisters of fluid connected by hoses to an empty third chamber that had a valve with a timer on it.

“It’s time the Lucian branch end their foolish and undeserved position of power in my beloved country,” he said. “And while most of the leadership is off on Vikram Kabra’s ridiculous flight above the clouds, those who are left behind will find a taste of their own medicine most bitter to swallow. Poison always was their favorite.” He cleared his throat, pressed a button, and the timer started ticking down from ten minutes. The canisters bubbled as the fluid from each started to mix, hissing and turning to gas that filled the third chamber.

“If you can wriggle free before liquidized acid dissolves this nest of Lucian vipers beneath the glorious State Kremlin Palace,” Alek said, “I do hope you’ll tell Amy and Dan who their grandmother really was.” He moved for the door, then turned back. “Of course, if you don’t make it out, I guess Amy and Dan will know what it feels like to lose someone they care about. Either way, a win for the good guy. Me.”

With that, he closed the door behind him, leaving Nellie and Sammy handcuffed in a dark office with the red glow of the countdown clock marking the final minutes they had until poison gas flooded the building. The file that condemned one of Nellie’s greatest heroes as a cold-blooded killer sat on the desk in front of them.

All in all, this was not one of Nellie Gomez’s favorite days.

Ten minutes later, Nellie and Sammy stood in the prison hospital by the bedside of Vladimir Spasky, Alek and Irina Spasky’s father. And the man Grace Cahill had ordered to kill her own husband.

“I will give you privacy.” The jailor excused himself and cleared all the guards out of the room, closing the door behind them. He cleared the hallway outside the door, too.

“So, uh, Sammy?” Nellie asked. “What’s with that tattoo? You were never in the Russian mafia. Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me about before we met?”

Sammy laughed and rolled up his sleeve again to show her his tattoo. “See that symbol around the wheel? Fe2+? That’s the chemical symbol for ferrous iron compound. So my tattoo is a ferrous wheel! Get it? Ferrous wheel? Ferris wheel?” He grinned widely.

_**(See end notes)** _

“That is the nerdiest chemistry-joke tattoo I have ever seen,” Nellie said.

“You’ve seen other chemistry-joke tattoos?”

Nellie shook her head.

“Anyway, we’re lucky our jailor there didn’t have a PhD in chemistry,” said Sammy. “And lucky you have an uncle in the Department of Fisheries.”

Nellie cleared her throat. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

Sammy nodded. “It worked. Here we are.”

They stood quietly again, staring at the man in the bed.

The old man lay perfectly still beneath crisp white sheets. He was attached to a heart rate monitor and there was a breathing tube in his nose. His eyes were closed and his skin was waxy. He looked frail and helpless, and she felt sad for him. It was hard to believe this was the man who had raised one of the most brutal killers Nellie ever had the misfortune to meet in her life.

“Mr. Spasky.” Nellie spoke quietly to him. “Mr. Spasky, my name is Nellie Gomez. I knew your daughter … in a way … and admired her, at times …” Irina had given her life saving Dan and Amy. It was the only time Nellie had admired her, but for her kiddos, Nellie would be forever grateful to Irina Spasky. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Do you think he can hear us?” asked Sammy.

Nellie had no idea, but she had to try. She had to know. “I have some questions about Grace Cahill.”

With that, Vladimir Spasky’s eyes shot open and he cried out in Russian “Ya izvinyayus, Grace! Ya popredaval tebya!”

Sammy looked at Nellie questioningly. She shook her head. She’d no idea what Vladimir Spasky had just shouted.

The old man tilted his head toward Nellie, reached out, and took her hand in his. His skin was dry and rustled like paper. “Grace …” He sighed.

“Do you remember Grace Cahill?” Nellie asked.

The man nodded. “I always try to serve Grace Cahill,” he answered in English. He spoke quietly but clearly. His steel blue eyes held Nellie’s and filled with tears. He looked sad and she felt a swell of pity for him, until she reminded herself who he was, where he was, and why he was there. “I served Grace Cahill before KGB and after, when I serve the Brava. I still serve her.” He’d used the Russian word for brotherhood, which was what they called the mafia, which Nellie knew from movies. “I served her always. In this life, I have done terrible things. I lived by the code, the thieves’ code, and for my crimes, I will die here, alone in this prison. I know she has sent you to kill me.”

Nellie dropped the old man’s hand in shock. “Kill you?”

The man nodded. “I have failed her, and this is her way. I am ready. Please, do it quickly.”

Nellie’s mouth hung open. How could this man think she, Nellie Gomez, was an assassin sent by Grace Cahill? That was not Grace’s way. “I’m not here to …” She couldn’t even say the words. She’d never been feared before, and to be feared by an assassin just because she’d mentioned Grace Cahill…. It felt powerful, but not in a good way, like running down a steep hill and realizing too late you had no way to stop, going faster and faster. All she could think to say was, “Grace wouldn’t want to kill you. She wasn’t like that.”

The man’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a gruesome laugh that turned to wheezing breaths. “You make me laugh,” he said.

“No,” said Nellie. “Grace Cahill was not a murderer.”

The old man’s eyes met Nellie’s again. His brow furrowed. “Grace Cahill lead my family …” He paused, then seemed to realize something.

“Our family, yes?” Nellie nodded. “For many years, Grace led. You do not lead the Cahill family without the stain of blood on your hands.”

Nellie felt her own hands shaking. This man confirmed everything that was in that file, the terrible order Grace had given. How, Nellie wondered, would she break the news to Amy and Dan?

“I remember now that Grace is gone.” The old man sighed. “I had forgotten. The dead are too many to count now, and I have so few others to speak of. Both my children are dead.”

“Both your children are not dead,” Nellie told him. “Irina, yes, she passed away, but Alek, he is still alive…. We saw him just a few hours ago.” She decided to leave out the part where Alek wanted to murder them.

“He is dead to me,” the old man said. “When Irina died, I told him my regrets. A life of regrets. And still, he chose to be a killer.” The old man reached out to find Nellie’s hand again. “I see now that you are no killer. But I have shocked you?”

Nellie nodded.

“Why would you think Grace wanted to kill you?” Sammy asked, for which Nellie was grateful. She wanted to know, too, but she couldn’t find the words to speak. All she could picture were Amy’s and Dan’s faces when she told them that their grandmother was capable of striking fear into an assassin’s heart.

“I have killed many people,” Vladimir Spasky said. “Too many. And the only merciful thing I have ever done is perhaps the most terrible thing I have ever done. This is why you are here? This is why you have come at last, Nellie Gomez, guardian of Amy and Dan Cahill? Yes, I know who you are. You have come to me as punishment for my sins, which I must confess. I must tell the truth that I could not tell while Grace lived, my horrible crime against the Cahill family. For the one killing I was called to do and did not.”

As Sammy and Nellie listened slack-jawed, the old assassin made his last confession.

“And Alek informs me that the Moscow base has been wiped out as well,” he said. “Fewer casualties than you would’ve liked, but they are sufficiently broken. As promised, you are the last of the Lucian leadership. Congratulations on your triumphant return to power.”

**_(See end notes)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since I can't figure out how to put images in this (they have no image address as I screenshotted and edited them) so you'll find them at this Tumblr post, conveniently numbered and in order; https://authorgirl0131.tumblr.com/post/641602104238243840/i-dont-know-how-to-put-an-image-with-no-image


	13. Mission Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alek Spasky didn’t mind the frigid water, though. It reminded him of Mother Russia and of his own bitter-cold heart." Okay, calm down, edge lord.

The dry suit, the neoprene, the diving helmet—none of it was enough to stave off the icy chill of the North Sea. Alek Spasky didn’t mind the frigid water, though. It reminded him of Mother Russia and of his own bitter-cold heart.

On the other hand, the gaseous chemical elements and compounds regulated by the umbilical cable that connected his helmet to the salvage ship bobbing on the surface were really annoying. Let alone the buzz and whir in Alek’s ears as the helmet valves let the gases in and then expelled his breath.

He reminded himself that the dive helmet wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was the missing nuclear sub.

Cutting the darkness with his headlamp, Alek saw nothing but bubbles, sediment, and one lonely, pathetic-looking fish drifting in the shadowy water. Hundreds of feet below the surface, the sea was nearly devoid of life, and everything appeared drab and ashen in the shreds of sunlight struggling to reach the sea floor.

His lamp landed on a cluster of mineral deposits rising like knobby fingers from the sandy bottom of the sea. But the rock formation seemed to be the only distinguishable form in the desolate void surrounding him.

That is, if he wasn’t counting the other diver.

Alek turned his gaze on the salvage crew captain and he caught the man’s attention.

The captain was wiry and weather-worn. He had a hearty laugh and a genuine smile. Alek had disliked him from the very beginning. He liked the captain even less now that he seemed unfazed by the dark expanse of nothingness stretching out before them.

They were not comrades. The captain and his crew of seamen who salvaged sunken vessels for a living, salvors for short, were hired hands. Nothing more.

As they’d ridden together out to the open sea and waves had splashed over the sides of the salvage ship, the captain had begun to reminisce about his days working as an underwater welder on oil rigs off the coast of Texas. “Those currents could rip you right off—”

“Get this straight,” Alek had interrupted. “You are not to make small talk. You are not to tell stories. Your job is to deliver me to the Kraken, no questions asked.”

Alek narrowed his eyes at the captain as they stood side by side in the depths of the barren sea. “Where is it?” Alek asked with a knife-sharp edge to his voice. “Where is the wreckage?”

After a slight pause the captain’s voice crackled inside Alek’s helmet. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure we’re just a hop, skip, and a jump away.”  The feed broke and then started again with another crackle. “It appears we landed slightly off course. We might have some exploring to do, but I promise we’ll find your sunken vessel.” At this, the captain chortled softy.

Alek detested people who had the tiresome habit of laughing when nothing was funny.

Imbeciles, the entire crew—they couldn’t salvage a sunken vessel if the fate of their country depended on it. _Which, in a way, it does …_ The thought made Alek’s lips curl slightly at the corners.

The captain no doubt mistook Alek’s smirk as a sign of shared lightheartedness. He gave the hand signal that meant everything was okay before turning to trudge along the sandy sea bottom.

_ Sure. Okay. Tread on like everything is fantastichesky, you careless excuse for a captain. I will take solace in knowing that your mixed-gas breaths are numbered. _ And there it finally was. With one single murderous thought, Alek at last felt calm wash over him.

The gases hissed and droned inside his helmet as he regulated his breathing once again and picked up his heavily weighted boots to follow in the captain’s footsteps. Soon after passing the oddly shaped rock formation, a dark, jagged outline emerged in the murky water a short distance away. Alek’s pulse quickened. Was this it? Was this the Kraken?

Dozens of nuclear bombs went missing during the Cold War, but most people live blissfully unaware of all the sunken subs and crashed airplanes that disappeared along with the bombs they carried. Known as broken arrows, the lost nukes were untapped opportunities for terror and catastrophe. If only they could be recovered.

Alek’s neoprene-clad skin tingled with anticipation as he took another step toward the shadowy object.

When a fire had broken out in the aft compartment of the Kraken decades before and it plunged to the bottom of the North Sea, Alek had been charged with covering up the calamity. As one of the Soviet Union’s top KGB operatives, he’d pored over the images and sonar readings and had fabricated stories in order to maintain foreign relations. Unable to share what he knew with anyone—Cold War secrets were well guarded—he had silently mourned the Kraken’s brokenness. What a waste that the sub had fallen. What a waste that the Kraken had never had the chance to demonstrate its awesome power.

_ Everything in life deserves a second chance.  _ I _ deserve a second chance. _

At long last Alek would emerge from the shadows.

He quickened his slog through the sea. Yet as he drew closer to the looming form, it proved not to be the sub, but instead a towering deep- sea reef. When the captain merely glanced back and shrugged before turning the corner of the closest ridge, Alek’s anger flared.

As Alek rounded the corner to follow the captain, the current pushed back. It unbalanced him. It teased beneath his arms, streamed between his legs, and tugged on his helmet and boots. Tucking his head slightly, he leaned into it.

_ Like walking uphill in a windstorm. _

Slanting forward as he went, he maneuvered around the first rocky bend only to be swept off his feet and bashed back against the reef by the flow of the sea. The captain’s voice resounded inside his helmet. “Be careful back there.” Crackle. “The current really picks up alongside the reef. It might just pick you up and toss you around if you don’t plant your boots in the sand.”

Even though Alek couldn’t see the captain’s face, he could hear the smile in his voice. Oh, how he hated that man.

Leaning against the jagged reef for stability, Alek pulled a steel rod from a pouch on his dry suit. With the current, he couldn’t spin it across his fingers the way he so enjoyed. Yet just the weight of it in his gloved hand made him feel centered again. Deadly centered.

When Alek finally worked his way around the last sharp bend, to a flat area where the current waned, the sea rewarded him by coughing up its long-forgotten treasure. Nestled behind the reef, the Kraken slept, covered by a blanket of barnacles and silt.

The captain stood directly in front of Alek, staring up in awe at the giant arc of the Kraken’s rear propeller. Even half buried, the blades reached high above his head.

Alek ran his headlamp down the bridge of the sub and across the blanket of sludge and sediment cloaking it. There was something eerie about the wreckage and the way the sea had claimed it—rusting the steel and draping the railings with red kelp.

Over the whir and hiss of his own breathing, Alek could hear creaks and moans as the current whistled through the metal vessel. Or perhaps what he really heard were the groans and cries of a ghostly crew forever trapped inside.

Beyond the captain, the enormous missile-shaped submarine faded in the darkness. It was impossible to see from one end of the sub to the other, but Alek could tell the hull was still intact. More importantly, the nukes inside were still intact.

A broad smile cracked Alek’s face.

He had everything he needed: the warheads, the cables, the equipment necessary to salvage the wreck. He also had one thing he didn’t need.

While the captain stood with his back to Alek, still appraising the behemoth sub, Alek raised the steel rod. He used it to slice the captain’s umbilical.

Alek Spasky stewed while he sat hidden by a thicket in the woods just beyond Grace Cahill’s hangar. He regretted not hitting at least one of the children with his emei piercer when he’d had the chance.  If Alek had maimed just one of them before they’d entered the hangar, it would’ve made the wait far more bearable. Granted, the Outcast had ordered him to hold off until the children led him to the files. But the Outcast wouldn’t begrudge Alek a little fun in the meantime, would he?  


As it was, he was nothing more than an overpaid babysitter. The thought galled him. He was tired of lurking in the shadows, when today was supposed to be his day to rise. Alek’s right hand, his spear-hurling hand, twitched.  


Watching a video feed from inside the hangar, he noticed that Amy had climbed into the cockpit of the plane. Hate and loathing ate at Alek like acid. He longed to make her suffer.  


The Cahill girl took bold steps with all the self-assurance of an older sister. Alek’s own sister, Irina, had operated the same way. He’d spent most of his life trying to impress her. Trying to prove himself worthy of her love and attention.  


Alek had been following in Irina’s footsteps when he joined the Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopanosti—the machine that was the KGB. But Irina had treated him with disinterest as she outshone him in every manner and rose to the top of the secret spy agency. She’d been cool and aloof, bestowing him with nothing more than an indifferent smile when he finally attained the highest rank alongside her.  


Irina had been ice.  


She’d never cared for him, never shown him any softness. And any hint of feeling in her had died with her son. But perhaps her coolness was a blessing in disguise. Her rejection finally caused Alek, too, to turn away from his family. And when he did, he found something extraordinary. Until the hubris of the Cahill family took it away from him.  


And for what?  


Then Irina went and threw her life away, too. One moment of tenderness, and it was wasted on the Cahill children.  


They had cost him too much.  


Today Amy and Dan would atone for two lives cut short, for acts of kindness imparted on the undeserving. They would pay him back with blood.  


The media would speculate on the origin of the nuke in the Netherlands and which terrorist group was responsible for its detonation. True, it had been the most brilliant, tinkering Ekaterina minds that had made the bomb operational once again, but without Alek none of it would have been possible.  


Alek would make sure the entire world knew that he was responsible. He would contact the media himself. He’d need his own alias, of course. How about “the Steel Rod Assassin”? No, that was ridiculous. It was far too long and comic-book-sounding. Unlike “the Outcast,” which was all at once threatening and concise. Alek’s own father had been called “the Scalpel.” Could his alias be “Son of the Scalpel”? No, that also was horrendously long.  


Alek would have to give it more thought. He’d meditate on it after he dealt with the children. Glancing again at the video surveillance, he noticed Amy clambering back out of the cockpit. Boring, Alek thought.  


Then she stumbled and pulled back the rug. When he saw the hole that had opened up in the floor, he smiled.  


_ And so it begins. _

A grinding sound echoed from the stairwell. The secret panel was sliding open.  


Ham’s skin prickled. His tongue felt like a stone in his mouth and his gut tightened. They hadn’t done anything to open the door. So who had?  


Amy shoved the file into her pack, and she and Hamilton sprang to their feet a second after Jonah.  


“What’s the plan?” Hamilton whispered. “Whoever opened that door has us backed into a corner. If we stay down here, there’s no hope for escape.”  


A look of understanding passed between the three of them.  


“Okay, then.” He felt his anger solidify into resolve. No matter how hard the world tried, he wouldn’t become the victim his father was. “We dive for cover as soon as we reach the top. Agreed?”  


Amy and Jonah nodded their heads. Then the three of them bolted up the stairs together and launched themselves through the opening in the floor.  


As Ham ducked and rolled, a small silver missile flew through the air and Jonah let out an agonized shriek. An iron fist clenched around Ham’s heart.  


“Jonah!” he screamed.  


For an excruciating moment, Ham could only see the horrendous way Jonah’s face was contorting with pain. He couldn’t see where the emei piercer had nailed him. He couldn’t tell if the injury was life-threatening.  


Reaching back, he encircled an arm around his friend’s waist and hauled Jonah along, then dove for cover. They slid to a stop behind the aircraft tug a second later, just as another silver object whizzed by Ham’s ear.  


As Ham dropped his cousin, Jonah clutched his leg and writhed in pain. Hamilton glanced down at the steel rod impaled in Jonah’s thigh and breathed a sigh of relief. Better there than in his chest.  


“Spasky?” Ham asked as Amy slid safely behind the cover of the tug.  


“I didn’t get a good look, but it’s got to be,” she said. “How bad is it, Jonah?”  


“Takes a lot more than one spear to do in the Wiz,” Jonah joked. But it was obvious by the way his face crumpled and his body folded in on itself that he was suffering.  


“If we don’t act fast,” Amy said, “it might come to a lot more—for all of us.”  


A great white wave of anger hit Hamilton. Why were some people so bent on making others miserable? He peered over the tug, then whipped back as Alek let another steel rod fly. Ham felt the whoosh of air splitting around him as the rod sliced straight through the spot where his head had just been. The emei piercer ignited sparks as it hit the wall behind them and clattered to the floor.  


Fire boiled in Hamilton’s veins. His words were knife sharp as he reported back to the others. “Spasky is standing near the hull of Grace’s plane. He has enough spears in his pack to turn us all into Swiss cheese.”  


“Yo, but we have him outnumbered,” Jonah said.  


Hamilton inhaled, then shot Amy a grim look. “Have any ideas?”  


“I do!” Jonah said. “When we were searching for Grace’s files, I saw a switch for the fire suppression system on the wall. It’s right by the door.” He winced again as he pulled himself upright and pointed at a button inside a glass box on the opposite side of the hangar. “If we can activate the switch, the foam might disorient Spasky long enough for us to jet. I went to this foam party once and—”  


“Got it. Try not to talk too much, bro. Can you snag that cone behind you?” Ham said. “I wouldn’t ask—you know, ’cause you have that, um, spear sticking out of your leg … ” just looking at the wound made Hamilton feel light-headed. “But you’re the one closest to it.”  


Jonah grimaced as he reached for the orange traffic cone sitting by one of the tug’s rear tires. Hamilton whispered in Amy’s ear. She nodded and then took the cone from Jonah’s hands.  


“On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”  


Amy popped out. The sound of another flying rod hissed in the air. Using the cone as a shield, she dropped into the seat of the small tractor, started the ignition, and wedged the gas pedal down with the cone. As the tug lurched forward, Amy threw herself from the vehicle.  


The tug caught Alek by surprise. It pinned him to the side of the plane just as Hamilton made a break for the switch. He opened the glass, hit the button, and instantly the hangar began to fill with thick clouds of fire-suppressing suds.  


Alek roared and Hamilton glanced in his direction, then grinned. One of the sprinklers was spraying right in Spasky’s face. Beneath the white lather the assassin’s skin was beet red. Then the anger in Alek’s eyes turned to panic as he was swallowed up entirely by the foam.  


The three kids slogged around the spray. Then Ham and Amy helped Jonah hobble out the nearby door. Submerged beneath ten feet of foam, and immobilized between the tug and Grace’s plane, Alek Spasky was no longer a threat.  


“Huh,” Hamilton said, feeling slightly vindicated. “Do you realize we just took down an ex-KGB spy with bubbles?”

“Yo, tell them about me!” Jonah chimed in from where he was propped up on the hotel bed.  


Amy recounted their run-in with Alek Spasky. “Forty stiches,” she said. Then a wry smile played on her lips. “Someone at the hospital leaked the story. Now there’s all this speculation in the media that he was attacked by some wacked-out fan with a twisted obsession.”

._ ._.. . _._ / ._. . __ . __ _... . ._. ...

(Translation; ALEK REMEMBERS)


	14. Mission Atomic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alek; *is literally this close to finally killing Amy Cahill.*  
> Alek; *gives her a philosophy lesson.*  
> Dude.

The image shook. Amy glanced to the side, off screen, and gasped. “He’s coming.”

“Run, Amy! Run and hide! I’m coming!”

She stopped, her lips not quite forming her words. Amy’s gaze lifted. There was a flicker of fear in the way her eyes widened and the small gasp that caught in her throat. “No … ”

A crack like a gunshot burst through the speakers.

Dan froze. “Amy?” he whispered.

The cell, fallen from Amy’s hands, faced up at a ceiling.

Someone lifted it. As it moved, Dan caught a half-second glimpse of Amy lying on the floor.

Alek Spasky appeared. His eyes narrowed with curiosity as he peered into the phone’s camera. “Nathaniel? Are you there?”

“What have you done to my sister?” Dan could barely form the words.

“Nathaniel?”

“What have you done to Amy?” Dan yelled.

_It can’t be. She can’t be …_

He couldn’t finish the thought. He couldn’t allow it.

“I’m here, Alek,” said Nathaniel, taking the phone from Dan’s numb fingers.

“It’s done,” replied Alek, quite casually. “The Cahill girl is dead.”

Across the road was a covered bus stop. A lone middle-aged businessman waited, chin sunk deep into his raised collar, hands stuffed into his pockets. He looked over at the café.

_Warm and dry in here, chum._

“Ian Kabra, what am I going to do with you?”

Alek Spasky switched off the sound recorder. He had all he needed.

Love makes you blind.

Ian had looked right at him. If the boy hadn’t been so distracted by the young woman opposite, he would have realized something was off. Perhaps Vikram Kabra was right, the boy was too soft to be a true Lucian. He’d also been right about the coffeehouse—sooner or later Ian would go there. Alek found it interesting how willing Vikram was to betray his own son. To Alek, family was all.

The Cahills were responsible for his sister’s death, so they, too, must die. It was simple family loyalty.

Alek gripped the Makarov semiautomatic pistol in his pocket, his thumb idly resting on the safety.

He could cross the road and finish them both now. They were so deep in each other’s eyes they hadn’t seen him at all. Perhaps that would be a kindness. Their last moments of life would be happy ones.

No, that would put the rest of them on alert and he’d lose the other boy, Dan Cahill.

The bus slowed down and Alek reluctantly released his hold on his weapon. He missed his ring darts but, as his old KGB instructor once warned him, over-reliance on a single weapon was a sign of weakness, and vanity.

He drew out his wallet and smiled at the bus driver. “Excuse me, but does this go to Imperial College?”

“Use this.”

The voice emerged out of the shadowy doorway. Peerless turned to see a man, his raincoat shiny with raindrops. He held out a handkerchief.

Dr. Peerless squinted. He’d left his glasses in the laboratory, too. Getting old and forgetful. “The tower is closed to students.”

“I’m not a student.”

Dr. Peerless took the handkerchief. “It’s not open to the public, either.”

The man leaned his elbows on the edge of the arched opening. “That’s a shame. The view is splendid.”

Dr. Peerless nodded as he joined him. The first rush of sugar had put him in a good mood. Let his handkerchief-carrying savior stay. “That it is.” He glanced over. “Russian?”

The man smiled. “I thought I’d lost my accent a long time ago.”

“I spent quite a while in Russia and Ukraine, or the Soviet Union as it was then, after the Chernobyl disaster.”

“A bad time,” the man said.

Peerless nodded. “The worst. Terrifying.”

He still dreamed about it, even after all these years. Back in 1986 he’d just been promoted to head of nuclear technology and his first job was to help at what was the world’s worst nuclear disaster. The reactor at Chernobyl had overheated and exploded, hurling a radioactive cloud over much of Europe.

“Nuclear meltdowns are your field of work?”

Dr. Peerless shook his head. “Contamination. It was my job to map out dispersion patterns, radiation levels in the soil. Track levels of radiation poisoning and mutation.” He shook his head, remembering some of the awful things he’d seen. “That was then. Now I specialize in green technology. To try to free us from our”—he glanced at his doughnut—“bad habits.”

The man laughed. “You seek to save the world?”

Dr. Peerless grinned. The young man he’d once been had promised himself he’d do exactly that. “That’s one way of looking at it. Why else become a scientist if not to make the world a better place?”

“A sentiment worthy of an Ekat.”

Dr. Peerless tensed. “A what?”

The man shook his head. “You are not a fool, Dr. Peerless, please do not assume I am one.” Dr. Peerless only now noticed the man was wearing tight black gloves. It made him afraid in a way he hadn’t been in years. When he’d first arrived at Chernobyl, they’d often been “chaperoned” by men in raincoats with tight black gloves. The power station had been built in Ukraine, one of the republics that made up the old Soviet Union. Then, one night at the end, over a bottle of vodka, he’d been told who they were.…

“KGB,” whispered Dr. Peerless. The doughnut fell from his hands.

“It was a tradition to give the condemned man one last meal,” said the man as he approached Peerless.

Heels clacked on the corridor floor.

Ian jolted to a stop by the door. “Hold on. Someone’s coming.”

They didn’t have the almost telepathic empathy of Dan and Amy, but they knew danger when it was about to knock on the door.

Cara pointed to the window. It was half open.

Ian shook his head and mouthed, Are you insane? We’re five stories up.

Cara stabbed her finger at the window again.

Then they heard a slow slide and click.

Ian paled.

He didn’t have a huge amount of experience with firearms, but it sounded a lot like a bullet being chambered.

Cara slid out and grabbed the upper ledge. Chest against the wall, she shuffled along to make way for him. “Come on!”

The good thing about these grand Victorian buildings were the window ledges. The wide window ledges. And the buttresses. And the statues. So many handholds and places to hide. It was almost impossible to fall off.

Except when it had been raining. The marble was as slippery as oil on ice.

Ian stared down and went a mix of pale and sickly. Each floor was about fifteen feet high and there were five of them between him and some very hard-looking paving slabs. He did a quick calculation. Seventy-five feet.

He stepped out with one trembling leg.

The doorknob turned.

Ian thrust his other leg onto the ledge. He closed his eyes and whispered a little prayer. Ian’s shoes were Church’s, with handmade leather soles designed so they wouldn’t leave prints on expensive carpets. They were not designed for scrambling around on ledges. He swallowed and shuffled out very carefully.

The office door opened.

Papers rustled, and they could both hear drawers being opened and closed. The searcher was taking his, or her, time.

Ian heard the clicking of keys and the soft hum of a hard drive.

A cell phone rang, and for an awful moment Ian thought it was his.

Then, with great relief, he realized it was coming from within the office.

“Da?”

Cara flashed Ian a panicked look. It was Alek Spasky. He was the man in the office.

Ian leaned in to hear more and his foot slipped away. He scrabbled with his right hand and caught nothing but air.

But Cara grabbed him.

Ian swung off the ledge, clasping her fingers. He dangled there, seventy-five feet up with only Cara’s slim fingers between him and a splattery death. His heart thumped high in his throat while his stomach dropped down to his toes.

Cara had managed to hook her other arm around the neck of a statue. But Ian could see her grip failing. What would give first? His hold on Cara, or her hold on the statue?

 _She needs to let me go,_ thought Ian. _But she won’t._ Ian met her gaze and opened his hand.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Cara hissed, locking her grip even tighter.

“Of course the bomb is in place, Nathaniel,” continued Alek. “Now I must go to Kiev. To Natalia.” Kiev? What business did Alek have in Kiev?

“Do not presume to order me, Nathaniel. I assist you, but I do not serve you.” There was no mistaking the anger in Alek’s voice. The phone clicked off.

Ian gritted his teeth. The ground loomed beneath him. One look at Cara warned Ian she was hurting badly. Her face was sweaty and red with effort, and her arms were shaking.

Hinges. A lock clicking. “He’s gone,” Cara hissed. “Climb up.”

“I don’t admit to knowing Alek Spasky well,” she said as she rebooted. “But he seemed very angry with Nathaniel, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Now, that was something. “Any discord between allies has to be exploited. I read that in Sun Tzu.”

The screen, cracked as it was, flickered to life.

“What was he looking for?” asked Ian.

Cara inspected the computer. A few quick taps on the keyboard and her suspicions were confirmed. “He deleted some e-mails. Neat. If he’d wiped the whole disk it would have been suspicious. So he just picked the ones he needed and got rid of them.”

“Maybe that’s it! Alek mentioned a bomb. Perhaps he’s planning to do it then? Kill the faculty staff?”

“I doubt it will be simple,” said Ian. “But Alek went to an extraordinary amount of trouble to hide all the Shanghai details from us, and that included tossing a Nobel Prize–winning scientist off a tall tower, so I’m certain Shanghai is the target.”

Jonah raised the remote. “Maybe he’ll tell us. Alek Spasky is on the news.”

“What?” exclaimed Amy.

Jonah raised the volume on the news report on Dr. Peerless’s death. The TV crew was interviewing some students while an ambulance and police worked in the background. A picture of the Queen’s Tower was inserted in the top left of the screen with the banner TRAGIC ACCIDENT ROBS BRITAIN OF NOBEL PRIZE–WINNING SCIENTIST. There was a crowd watching the action on the lawn at the foot of the tower.

Jonah leaned forward. “Don’t you see him? At the back?” He paused the clip. “Look.”

Everyone was looking toward the lawn, except one man. He was looking at the screen, at the viewer.

_At us._

Alek Spasky.

“For a spy he’s not trying very hard to stay hidden,” suggested Ham. “Don’t they teach that at spy school?”

Amy shook her head. “No, he wanted us to see him. But why?”

Jonah furrowed his brow. “Behind him … ”

“A wall?” said Ham.

“What’s on the wall?”

Amy stared at Ham, who looked back equally confused.

Jonah walked up to the screen. “See that poster? What’s it say?” Amy leaned forward. Alek was leaning up against the wall, right next to the poster, smiling.

Amy bit her lip. Of course it was. Alek was standing there for a reason. He’d _wanted_ the camera to catch him. “ ‘Cities in Dust’ doesn’t sound very good,” she said

Cara shrugged. “Maybe you could throw a nuke down the crater?”

“The chap’s from the Cold War era,” suggested Ian. “That sort of thing is his MO.”

Cara scowled. “One man knows for certain,” she said. “That’s Alek Spasky. And he’s headed to Ukraine, where Chernobyl is.”

Amy rubbed her forehead. “That cannot be a coincidence. But what does it matter? He won’t tell us anything.”

Ian shook his head. “I’m not so sure. He was going to see someone in Kiev, and it sounded like she means a lot to him. If there’s a chance to get him to tell us what the plan is, even a small chance—”

“Small?” interrupted Dan. “You mean microscopic. The guy wants us dead, Ian.”

Ian met his gaze. “If Nathaniel is planning a nuclear disaster, we’ve got to follow every lead we’ve got. And our best lead is Alek and this mystery woman he’s going to see.”

“Seems to me,” said Ham, “we have three missions. The Black Forest, Shanghai, and now Chernobyl.”

Amy agreed. “What do you think we should do, Ham?”

Ham started. “You’re asking me?” He looked to her, then Dan, then Ian. “Don’t we have enough bosses?”

She nodded. “Tell us.”

Ham looked around for help. Amy could see the pleading in his eyes as they fell on Jonah, but the superstar just kicked back on the sofa, leaving the stage for the big Tomas.

Ham held up three fingers. “So we need this many teams. One to find out whatever dark secret lies in the Black Forest, the second to go to Chernobyl and question Alek Spasky, and the third to go to Shanghai and try and save the Ekats. Okay?”

Things were proceeding almost perfectly. Almost.

Alek Spasky was becoming a problem. No matter, once this business was over, Alek would have no need of him, and Nathaniel would have no need of Alek.

_Never trust a traitor, Alek. A spy should know that._

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Cara as she watched Ian gather his luggage off the carousel. “You really think we can persuade Alek Spasky to just spill the beans?”

Ian dropped the third suitcase onto the luggage cart. “If not him, then the woman he’s going to see. You heard him. This ‘Natalia’ means a lot to him, and something’s changed between him and Nathaniel. Something we can use to our advantage.”

They’d reached Ukraine’s largest international airport, Boryspil, a day behind Alek Spasky. There were three suitcases on the cart already and Ian was struggling with the fourth, a grand trunk that could be turned into a rowboat if necessary.

Notes, photographs, maps, and documents covered the warped wooden top. Cara joined him and picked up the nearest photograph.

And looked into the cold gaze of Alek Spasky.

“When was this taken?” she asked, unable to control a shiver.

Dmitry filled up a kettle and set it on the electric cooktop. “Last night. Your friend is here in Kiev.”

Cara met Ian’s frowning gaze. Yes, she knew exactly what he was feeling. Worried to the extreme.

“We need to know what Alek is up to. Give us a lead?” Ian said.

Dmitry slapped his back. “The little prince is a warrior—now, that I like! I have something that may help. No prince goes into battle without a sword, eh?”

While Dmitry started rummaging under the sofa, the two of them looked through the pile of information the private eye had gathered for them. Dmitry might have lived in chaos, but his skills at information gathering were as focused as a laser beam.

Ian picked up a list of old flights. “That’s strange. Alek comes here every year. Has done … for a long time.”

Cara checked. The dates went back decades. “You think this is something to do with Nathaniel?”

“No. Alek had nothing to do with the Cahills until recently. So this is either KGB work, or it’s personal.”

“Alek Spasky was top man with KGB. You need to be very careful." Dmitry dragged out a suitcase from under the sofa. It was covered in painted flowers. Dmitry smiled shyly. “My mother’s.”

“If we come face-to-face with Alek, a gun will make no difference,” said Ian.

“Why not?”

“Because we will lose, Cara.” Ian put the pistol back and closed the lid. “How much experience do you have shooting people?”

“None. Thank goodness.”

Dmitry finished his conversation and joined them. “We must go. My brother has been keeping a watch on Alek. He has left his hotel and taken a car north on the P02 road. We must follow.”

“The P02?” asked Ian. “Where does it go?”

“To Pripyat,” said Dmitry, grimly. “The city of ghosts.”

“And why does Alek go there?”

Dmitry shrugged. “Every year he make same trip. There and back in one day. He not stay long.”

Dmitry parked and dialed his cell. The conversation was quick. He scowled. “Alek has stopped. My brother will not follow any farther.”

Ian held on to the Geiger counter. “Where is he?”

“Another kilometer and a half along this road. At the city graveyard.” Dmitry held out his weapon. “Are you sure you don’t want?”

“Not the sort of place I’d take a woman on a date,” said Ian. “A graveyard in an abandoned city.”

Cara nodded. “At least you know you’ll be alone.”

Ian paused. “I’m having second thoughts about this. Trailing Alek Spasky through a graveyard just seems … highly ominous?”

Cara took his hand. “Come on, Ian.”

They crept along, keeping Alek just in sight. The graveyard was huge and rambling, with bushes and trees. The gravestones were large, the statues old and vine-woven.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Cara asked.

“Somewhere isolated, with two freshly dug graves,” said Ian.

“If he was planning to kill us why does he have flowers?”

“Russian sense of humor?”

“Wait. He stopped.” Cara pulled Ian down behind a gravestone. Ian peered around the side. “I don’t see anyone else.”

Where was Natalia? The flowers must be for her, yet there was no one in sight.

It was hard to imagine a lonelier place. Not even the wind disturbed the somber silence, and if there were any birds, they were minding their own business.

Ian hated graveyards. Especially ones with KGB assassins in them. He must be insane, being this close to Alek Spasky. They should have stayed farther back. Way farther back. Like, back in London.

Ian had never really taken a good look at Alek. Now he could, and saw a middle-aged man, hair short-cropped with plenty of gray in it. The face was hard, bare of any fat or softness, a classic Russian face made up of high cheekbones and brooding brow. His mouth was wide, but his lips thin. It was tough to imagine a mouth like that smiling, or laughing.

Alek paused and looked around.

Ian held his breath, daring not to move. Cara squeezed his hand.

Alek’s eyes narrowed.

Ian felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He was sweating—a bead of moisture dribbled down his temple, but he didn’t dare move to brush it away. The slightest action might catch Alek’s attention.

Alek reached into his coat …

How far would they get if they ran now?

Not far enough.

… and drew out a handkerchief.

“Phew,” whispered Cara.

Pollen tickled Ian’s nostrils. It was late spring and everything was blooming. He held his handkerchief to his nose. Oh, no—he really needed to sneeze.…

Cara pinched his nostrils together. “One sniff out of you and we’ll have Alek skewering us with one of his darts.”

“Eep” was as much as Ian could manage.

They watched Alek clear weeds and dead leaves off a grave. He was kneeling and, from here, it looked as if he was talking. Then he brushed his hands and arranged the fresh flowers on top of the grave.

Who was buried there?

It couldn’t be his sister; Irina was buried in Moscow. Ian frowned. As far as he knew there were no Spasky connections in Ukraine.

“He’s leaving,” whispered Cara.

Ian glanced over the stone slab. “And he’s left the flowers.”

Alek was back on the path. He looked back at the grave once, and briefly. As if saying good-bye. Then he straightened himself and left.

“Should we follow him?” Cara was already on her feet.

“No.” Ian peered over to the grave and the flowers. “I want to see who’s buried there.”

“But we’ll lose Alek.”

“And somehow I feel his and our paths will cross again, whether we like it or not.” Ian began walking. “We need to check this out, Cara.”

The roses were deep red and bound with a black ribbon. Green moss clung to the granite gravestone, and it was weathered and patchy with stains.

Ian froze as he read the name. “Of course.”

“ ‘Doctor Natalia Ivanova Spasky. Beloved wife.’ ” Cara rubbed the moss off the dates. “ ‘Born 1st July 1961. Died 12th July 1986. Age 25.’ His wife?”

“Yes, she must be,” said Ian. “She died a few months after the Chernobyl incident. That seems too much of a coincidence. She was very young to have a doctorate. She must have been bright.” He knew plenty of Ekats who were professors in their early and midtwenties, straight As all the way since kindergarten. “I wonder … ”

“He must have loved her so much.” Cara stared at the grave. “Still giving her flowers, thirty years later.”

Ian faced the worn gravestone. “We need to find out about Natalia Spasky.”

“Sorry. Just thinking out loud.” Then he stopped. “Here we go. The death certificates following the Chernobyl disaster.”

“Well?”

“One of them’s for Natalia.”

“What’s it say?”

“ ‘Acute radiation poisoning.’ ” Ian spotted a note tagged on the corner referring to another file. He flipped the reader open and searched the pile until he found it. “There’s more about Natalia on this.”

Ian read the document, testing his fluency reading Russian Cyrillic. “Star of Moscow University’s physics department. Top honors throughout. Then a stint at MIT through a private, unknown sponsor. MIT? Now, that was just up the road from—”

“Grace’s mansion,” said Cara.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Natalia was an Ekat? Yes, I am,” said Cara. “This looks like exactly the sort of thing Grace would have pulled. She spots a talent within the family and nurtures it. Geopolitics be damned.” She leaned over to have a better look at the file. “Then what?”

“Natalia returns to the USSR but lands herself a lowly teaching assistant job. The government at the time would have seen her as spoiled goods, someone tainted by Western ideology. She was probably lucky to be teaching at all. Then, a day after the Chernobyl meltdown, she ferries herself off to Ukraine and offers her services directly to the team. Whoever’s in charge recognizes her value, and in she goes. She was part of the team of engineers who sacrificed themselves to open up the cooling water drains that prevented a second series of explosions. They knew they were going to their deaths, but that didn’t stop them.”

Cara looked thoughtful. “Not many people on the planet would have the courage to do that.”

Ian had to agree. He’d faced gunmen and killers, but that was courage of the moment, a rush of adrenaline and the urge to protect his friends from danger. Allowing yourself to die by radiation poisoning was a whole different level of bravery.

“Natalia Spasky must have been a very special woman,” said Cara. “Any mention of Alek?”

“No,” replied Ian. “But I’m not surprised. He was well in with the KGB by that point. Her relationship with him would have broken all sorts of security rules.” He paused and increased the magnification. “Wait a minute. There’s a handwritten note. It’s referring to another report. Is there a report twenty-seven in the drawer?”

Alek Spasky was waiting. He held his pistol close to his body but pointed at them.

Ham charged.

The muzzle flashed and the explosion of gunpowder was deafening within the small steel confines of the elevator. Blood spurted from Ham’s left shoulder, but that didn’t stop him.

Ham grabbed Alek and there was a second shot, muffled compared to the first. Ham grunted as the bullet tore into his thigh.

Dr. Lin screamed.

The air was filled with the stink of burned gunpowder.

Ham punched Alek so hard it took him off his feet. His gun clattered along the bare concrete floor of the corridor.

But Ham had two bullets in him. His next blow was wild, and Alek reacted with a double chop into Ham’s throat. Ham gasped and hit the floor. Jonah and Amy lunged at Alek. Jonah ran, head down, smacking Alek in the gut. Amy swung her leg into the back of Alek’s knee, hoping to bring him down.

Alek pushed Jonah into the way of her attack and all she ended up doing was kicking him in the head. Jonah spun on the spot, unconscious.

Two down in as many seconds.

But there was no time to pause.

A backhand blow caught Amy on the forehead and she was knocked against the steel wall of the elevator. She clawed at it, trying to stay standing. Her head pulsed with pain.

Through blurry eyes she watched Alek pick up his pistol.

_Do something, Cahill._

She took a wobbly step toward Alek, desperate to wrestle the pistol away. He merely glanced over his shoulder and kicked her legs out from under her.

She tried to get up but Alek pointed the pistol at her and shook his head.

“On your knees.”

Slowly, with her hands raised, Amy did as she was told. She glanced at the others. Ham was bleeding badly, Jonah was unconscious. “My friends, they need help.”

“Hardly my concern. Time to die, Ms. Cahill.”

The hard muzzle of the pistol pressed against Amy’s head. Her breath came in panicked half gasps—she struggled as though she’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Don’t move, Ms. Cahill,” said Alek Spasky.

Move? She could barely think. She didn’t trust her body to do anything.

“I’ve done this before,” continued Alek. “A few times, actually. You are afraid, delirious with terror. That is normal. Calm yourself. Accept your fate. Make your last seconds … sublime.”

“S-sublime?” He was talking nonsense.

“I have traveled the world, investigated every religion, every philosophy. They all teach the same thing. How to embrace this moment of your life. The last. Savor it, Ms. Cahill, the exquisiteness of life. The air tastes different, yes?”

Now that he said it, Amy realized he was right. Air had a taste. She’d never noticed it before. “How?”

“That’s because now you take nothing for granted.”

Amy forced her body under control. She had to do something. She tensed her arm. If she could spin around …

Alek huffed. “No. The trigger is very sensitive. It requires little pressure.”

Amy had one last shot. She slowly shifted her head. Alek responded by pushing the muzzle deeper. Amy tried not to sob. She needed every ounce of self-control. “Is this what Natalia would have wanted?”

Was that a sudden intake of breath? Or was she so desperate she’d imagined it?

Ever so slowly, she tried to turn her head. To see the others. Jonah was unconscious, but she could hear a soft groan as he struggled to wake. Dr. Lin was curled up, terrified, but had wrapped her scarf around Ham’s leg wound and had her hands pressed on the bullet hole in his shoulder. Ham himself looked pale and barely conscious. He needed a hospital.

“How do you know about Natalia?”

“That you had a wife? Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not. Now that she is dead.”

“Dead but not forgotten. And still loved. Why else the roses?” said Amy. “She’s been dead thirty years.”

“You know nothing about Natalia, nor me.”

“I know she was a hero. And that you loved her very much and maybe, just maybe, your life would have been very different if she’d not gone to Chernobyl.”

“I warned her not to go. She didn’t listen.”

“She saved thousands and thousands of lives, Alek.”

“And how did they reward her sacrifice?” She’d never heard Alek angry, but now that she had, Amy knew she had to tread very carefully. “A leadlined coffin.”

“She was what all Ekats strive to be, Alek. Willing to do anything to make the world a better place. Is there a better legacy than that? Any truer member of the Cahill family?”

“It’s the Cahill legacy that destroyed her. That filled her mind with ridiculous ambitions.”

“No. It’s the Cahill legacy that made her the woman you loved,” said Amy. “The ambition to do good is never ridiculous.”

Alek didn’t respond. Had she pushed him too far? Amy tensed. Would she feel it?

This wasn’t sublime—kneeling, waiting for death. It was sad, pathetic, and humiliating.

“Is this how you honor her?” said Amy. “Planning a second meltdown?”

“What do you mean?”

“The bomb. You intend to blow up this power station.”

The pistol barrel pushed farther against her head. “Is that what you believe? That I would go along with such … an atrocity?”

“But we know you’re planning a bombing.”

Alek laughed. “Oh, a small explosive device, yes. That will remove the top floor of the Hilton at the gala dinner. Just enough to wipe out the guests at the symposium.”

“The Ekat branch.”

“Yes. The Ekat branch.”

Amy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They weren’t planning to cause a second meltdown. This entire ruse was to get the Ekats in one place and kill them with a simple bomb. She should feel relieved, the city was safe. But still, hundreds would die. She would die.

And yet, why here? Why hold a symposium here, in Shanghai, with an actual nuclear reactor right under everyone’s feet? “Nathaniel asked you to do this?”

“Of course.”

Why? Why bring everyone here? Why get Alek to plant a bomb, a mere bomb?

Unless …

“It’s a double cross, Alek,” said Amy. “He’s going to sabotage the reactor. That was always his plan. And he’ll use it to get rid of you.”

There was a pause. “Even Nathaniel wouldn’t do something so monstrous.” But Amy could hear the doubt in his voice. “Get up.”

Amy blinked. What had he just said?

“Get up, Amy Cahill,” said Alek. “Get up and turn around.”

She did, slowly and with her hands still raised.

He’d stepped back, just out of arm’s reach, and the pistol was still aimed squarely at her. Alek’s eyes were narrowed with suspicion, as if he was wondering if this was some ploy of Amy’s to extend her life by a brief minute or two.

“You should be proud of her, Alek. What she did in her short life is greater than what most will do if they lived to be a hundred. She’s achieved more than you, that’s for certain.”

Alek’s eyes hardened. “It’s foolish to taunt a man aiming a gun at your heart.”

“If you’re going to kill me, then I’d rather it was because I told you the truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That Chernobyl was no accident. It was sabotage.” Amy raised her head and lowered her arms. Whatever happened next, she wasn’t going to face it cowering. “And carried out on the orders of Nathaniel Hartford.”

Alek’s eyes widened it shock. He stared, stunned all the way through, but then shook his head, shaking off the weakness Amy had just glimpsed. “A lie. A desperate and feeble lie. I expected better.”

“What do you think Nathaniel’s been doing all these years? Do you honestly think he was just waiting for Grace to die? Of course not! He’s been prodding her defenses! You look back, unblinkered, and you’ll see all the trial runs, all the disasters and mishaps he threw at her, just to see if he could break her. But he couldn’t, not Grace. That doesn’t change the fact that he arranged Chernobyl.”

Amy wasn’t sure if she’d convinced Alek. He would guess she’d try anything to live, and maybe even use his wife’s memory against him. She pointed at her pocket. “It’s all on my cell. Ian sent me the old KGB documents regarding the ‘accident.’ Nathaniel’s fingerprints are all over it.”

“Take out your cell. Slowly.”

She did. Alek snatched it from her. He took a step back, out of range in case she tried to lunge for him. He scanned the documents, his eyes narrowing with cold rage as he read about the stolen radioactive materials, the hunt for the arms smugglers. Amy saw his jaw tighten.

“The photo is of Nathaniel. There is no mistake.” His shoulders sank. “What a fool I’ve been.”

Amy shifted her gaze to the pistol still pointed at her. What would Alek do now? She was afraid, now that he knew the truth. He’d take it out on her. This was the chance, the one small chance, to make Alek see what had been going on. To make him change his mind about what he planned to do. Amy needed to say something, something clever and powerful that would make the difference at this very moment. But then she realized this was no time to be clever. This was the time to be honest. “Help me, Alek.”

He lowered his pistol. He looked weary. “Go, little Cahill. Go and die another day.”

Amy’s mind was racing almost as fast as her heartbeat. “But he’ll only send others, once he knows you’ve failed. And he won’t trust you, either, will he?”

“What do you mean?”

“We need to make him stop chasing me,” said Amy, a plan coming together. An awful one.

“Can you contact Nathaniel?”

“He was expecting me to call him when this business was completed.” Alek drew out his own cell. “You want to speak to him?”

Amy met Alek’s gaze. “I want him to see me die.”

Alek didn’t reply, not immediately. He observed her, and Amy guessed he was calculating the likelihood of her scheme actually working. Then he smiled, his blue eyes cold as ice. “This had better work, for your sake.”

Amy ruffled up her hair. She had to make this look good. She switched off a few of the lights; the gloom would help disguise any … theatrical failings. It’s not like she faked her death regularly.

Alek looked at her. “Good. But you’re missing something.”

“What?”

His backhand blow swept her off her feet. Amy lay there, head ringing with pain, her body trembling with shock.

“A sense of fear,” said Alek. “You are now pumping adrenaline, your eyes are dilated with the primal survival urge, fight or flight.” He turned to the screen as it flickered to life. “Nathaniel? I have someone for you. I’ve captured Amy Cahill.”

Amy got to her feet but the ground seemed to bend. She blinked, trying to clear the tears. Her cheekbone burned and she felt the birth of a bruise just under her eye. Alek didn’t fool around.

“Yes, she’s right here.” Alek shoved the cell at her. “There is someone wanting to speak with you.”

Amy took the cell.

The screen flickered and buzzed. She wiped the tears from her eyes. The image came into view. She gasped.

“Dan?”

This wasn’t the plan! He looked unharmed, and Amy almost cheered. He stared, confused, into the screen. The reception down here was breaking up the image. “Dan!”

He frowned, struggling with the sound. Then his eyes widened. A look of pure horror spread across his face. Amy wanted to tell him everything was fine, that this was just a trick, that she was on her way, but she couldn’t breathe a word, not with Nathaniel mere feet away from Dan.

She glanced up at Alek. He put his hand over the screen.

“If you make him believe, then Nathaniel will believe.”

“But he’s my brother. I can’t have him think I’m dead! It will destroy him!” She could hear him shouting her name. He sounded so afraid.

“You have so little faith in Dan? You must go through with it. If Nathaniel suspects, even for a moment, that this is some ruse, then he will lock himself up so tightly, rearrange his plans, and we’ll never stop him. This is our only chance to finish Nathaniel Hartford once and for all. It will give us the chance we need to reach Nathaniel with his defenses down.”

“But I can’t lie to Dan—”

“You have to.” He slowly lifted his hand away.

He was right. It was tearing her heart in two to see the pain and hopelessness on Dan’s face, but she didn’t have any choice. She had to convince him she was about to die. She shook the cell. “Dan! Dan! Can you hear me?”

He stared back at her, ashen-faced. “Amy! I’m here!”

“I—I don’t have much time, Dan. You have to listen … ”

Alek switched off the cell and helped Amy off the floor. “He was convinced. Well done.”

Amy’s veins pulsed with horror. “My brother thinks I’m dead.”

“Yes, he does. I hope that does not make him do anything foolish.”

She hadn’t thought of that. What would she do if she’d just seen Dan, apparently, die? Amy bit her lip. “Do you know where he is?”

The lights faltered. For a second they went out, plunging the corridor into utter darkness. Then the emergency lights flickered, spilling their red, hellish glow over the five of them.

Then the alarms sounded.

Dr. Lin stared at the lights, her face pale. “No, no, no!”

Alek gripped the doctor’s arm. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a level-four alarm!” she screamed. “We need to run!”

Jonah blinked into consciousness. He gazed about him, then saw Ham.

“Bro!” He knelt beside him. “He’s bleeding! We’ve got to do something!”

Ham smiled weakly. “I’m all right. Just need to get up. Get moving.” He glanced at his bloody leg. “It’s only a little hole.”

Dr. Lin was struggling in Alek’s grasp, trying to flee.

“How far could you run?” said Amy. “A mile? Two? Not far enough to escape.”

Alek looked at her coldly. “I underestimated you, Amy Cahill. And I trusted Nathaniel. Two mistakes I won’t make again. Though I fear we are too late.”

Amy was up on her feet. “There has to be a chance.”

Dr. Lin shook her head. “We need to run!”

“We need to stop this!” Amy shouted. “You have to help us!”

Dr. Lin blinked. “How?”

Alek Spasky gestured at the elevator. “The control room. Take us there. Once we know what the problem is, perhaps we can fix it.” He waved his pistol at the elevator door. “Quickly, Dr. Lin.”

Jonah looked up. “What about Ham?”

Dr. Lin pointed at an elevator along the corridor. “There is a medical facility on the top floor. If they’ve gone already, you’ll find bandages.”

Jonah nodded and, together with Amy, lifted the big Tomas to his feet. Thousands of thoughts rushed through her mind, and thousands of emotions—raw, overwhelming, and terrifying—flooded her heart. There was so much she wanted to say. “Jonah, I don’t know how this is going to turn out … ” she started, trying not to choke on what the words meant. “I don’t know how to say good-bye.… ”

Jonah gripped her hand. He squeezed it so tightly she thought she felt her bones crack. “So don’t.”

Amy stepped into the service elevator, joining Alek and Dr. Lin.

To try to stop a nuclear meltdown.

“I thought it would take longer to find her, but today seems to be my lucky day. Alek Spasky reported to me a few hours ago that your sister had arrived at the symposium. He’s waiting for her and I’m expecting his call any minute now.” Nathaniel gestured to one of the guards.

And he’d be rid of Alek Spasky. The Russian had become a liability. Nathaniel had never been able to control him, not like the others, and such a man had to be handled very carefully, and removed once his usefulness was at an end.

There was a map on the wall and Alek ripped it off. The security doors had all opened, so there was no stopping her from accessing wherever she wanted.

Amy and Alek, dragging Dr. Lin, ran up a steel staircase into a corridor with a large internal window panel. On the other side were control decks and a large electronic schematic of the power station, lit up like a Christmas tree. Bulbs flashed red on all points. The room was empty. Chairs had been tipped over and there were a few tablets and other electronic devices abandoned on the floor. When the alarm had sounded, they’d left without grabbing anything.

Amy ran up to the deck. The screens pulsed.

All the dials and controls were in Chinese.

She couldn’t hear herself think! The alarms were deafening!

_This is hopeless. It’s going to blow!_

Dr. Lin scanned the display board. Alarms dazzled and flashed—the whole system was in catastrophe mode. None of it made any sense to Amy; she felt useless.

The panic swelled in her. She fought down the urge, the almost overwhelming urge, to flee. To run and run and not look back. A tremor shook the complex. Amy gulped, fearing this was the moment the reactor would explode. The steel beams ground against the concrete as the power station shifted.

Amy turned to Dr. Lin. “What’s happening? What went wrong?”

Tears were streaming down Dr. Lin’s face. “I—I can’t tell. It’s all … ”

“There has to be something!” Amy snapped. “Nathaniel couldn’t have sabotaged the entire system! Someone would have noticed!”

Alek approached the wall. “She’s right. It would be something relatively small, easily missed.”

The wall itself was over twenty feet wide and a dozen high. One huge digital screen filled with the schematic of the fusion reactor. On top of that was a 3-D holographic display, projecting sensor readings. She could decipher some. Temperatures. Flow rates. Pressures. All tripping into the red zone.

The room shook with a second explosion. The floor cracked, and Amy heard a threatening roar from deep within the bowels of the power station. The display crackled and a panel went blank.

Dr. Lin couldn’t stop shaking. “It’s too late … it’s too late.”

Amy dragged the doctor to the wall. “You have to tell me what’s wrong!”

They faced each other. Amy took a deep breath. Attacking Dr. Lin would do no good. She needed her. “How does the reactor work? Just explain it to me. Simply.”

Dr. Lin straightened. She was going into lecture mode. “The reactor is basically a heat generator. In its simplest form it’s nothing more than a steam engine. The heat from the reactor heats the water that turns the turbine, which generates the electricity that is then transmitted throughout the city.” She pointed to a complex series of lines weaving in and across the schematic. “Here is the generator. There are the flow pipes. Water going in, and water going out, heated to extreme temperatures. It expands to steam, it drives the turbines.”

The station rumbled and the display flickered. They didn’t have long.

Dr. Lin raised her head and listened. “The pressure is building somewhere. There must be a blockage.” She adjusted her glasses and busied herself over the console. “We’ve got a heat buildup reaching catastrophic levels. That’s the problem.” She gasped and stabbed her finger at a gate symbol. “One of the coolant valves is jammed shut. That’s what’s going wrong. And the backup’s been taken off line. Who would do that?”

Alek joined them. “Can you switch it on?”

Dr. Lin grimaced. “With the temperature buildup we need both valves open. I can open the backup from here but it won’t bleed off the heat quickly enough.” She darted to the control desk. “The valve needs to be opened.” She clicked on the keyboard. “There are microcameras within the pipes, all used as part of the maintenance program.”

One of the panels transformed into a screen, viewing the inside of a pipe. Bubbles distorted the image and the camera had been twisted out of position, but there was a circular steel gate, mostly closed. The coolant frothed and whirled as it tried to get through the small gap between gate edge and the valve frame.

“How do we open it?” Alek asked.

“It has to be done by hand.” Dr. Lin shook her head. “It’s suicide. You’d have to enter the flow pipes themselves. The pipes pass through the reactor, so the coolant itself is radioactive.”

Alek looked from her to the display. “How long would you have before getting a lethal dose?”

Dr. Lin stared. “You cannot be serious.”

“How long?”

Dr. Lin brushed her hair from her face. Her lips moved silently as she scanned the readings. “The coolant is absorbing radiation, so you’ll need to move fast before they build to fatal levels. The suits have radiation counters on them. Get out before they light all the way through red.” Dr. Lin glanced at the display. “Which gives you about ten minutes, given the rate of contamination.”

Ten minutes to do such a simple thing. All she had to do was turn a bit of steel, push it open, and they’d save a city. Amy stared at the screen, trying to guess how heavy it might be.

_Just put your feet against one side and push. The water pressure will do the rest. Don’t think about the radiation seeping into your bones._

“I’ve got to get into the flow pipe,” Amy said.

“You’re insane.” Dr. Lin sank into the chair, a look of disbelief still covering her face. “And you can’t do it alone. The gate needs to be locked into position, otherwise it’ll just slam shut again.”

Alek met Amy’s gaze.

His wife had died in a reactor. Amy wondered if Natalia thought she’d been a hero, or a fool. She’d saved thousands of lives, but had her death changed Alek? What sort of man would he have been if she’d lived?

Alek smiled. “I am an assassin, not a mass murderer. I’ll help.”

Dr. Lin donned an abandoned headset. “Take the elevator to level minus six. That’s the maintenance level. Go to access hatch sixty-three. There should be a set of full breathing gear, comms, and sealed suits that will offer some protection. The maintenance men use them, but they’re prototypes. No one’s tested them against anything above five hundred. Make sure you seal them properly. Any gap will mean contamination. Got it?”

Amy cupped her hand around the hologram of the gate. “And when I get to the gate?”

“Get it open as fully as you can. Then get out.”

They rushed down to the maintenance room. The whole complex was shaking now, and the walls bent and cracked under the strain. Amy’s heart raced like it had never done before. The whole reactor could blow any second.

Alek pushed open the steel door and in they went. The emergency lights filled the room with an eerie red glow, and goose bumps crept along Amy’s flesh, despite the stagnant heat that was building.

The sealed suits were folded up neatly within transparent plastic containers. Amy knocked the lid open.

Alongside the suits were small air tanks, breathing apparatus, and a chunky wristband with a digital reader. Nice and simple, with a row of twelve bars, green to orange to red.

“Radiation counters?” Amy guessed.

Alek handed her a headset. He hooked his around his ear and wrapped the throat mic around his neck. “Dr. Lin? Do you hear me?”

“Yes. Are you ready?”

Amy put on her headset and spoke to the waiting scientist as she suited up. “Where do we go now?”

“Through the maintenance door. You’ll come up to a pressure hatch. Once you’re in that, hit the flood button. That will equalize the pressure on both sides, the side you’re in and the pipe. Open up the second hatch at your feet and swim twenty meters to your left. You’ll see the jammed valve gate.”

“Got it,” replied Amy.

Alek and Amy checked each other to make sure their suits were fully sealed. The mask covered the entire face and included a headlight, allowing them to see each other clearly and talk through their comm sets. Amy just hoped she didn’t look as terrified as she felt.

Alek tested his mic. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

They walked to the hatch and together wound it open. Below was a steel tube, about five feet wide. A short ladder led them down four meters to a second hatch in the floor and a big red toadstool-shaped button on the wall. Amy waited there while Alek reclosed the hatch above them. It was dark except for the light coming from their headlights.

Alek joined her. He tapped the radiation counter on his forearm. “We won’t have long.”

Three green bars glowed out of the twelve. A quarter of their time was already gone.

_We can do this. In and out._

Amy punched the FLOOD button. Jets of water shot in at their ankles, rising to their knees in a couple of seconds, to their waist in a few seconds more. Amy slowed down her breathing. She’d done enough scuba diving to know that slow, deep breaths were the best way to conserve oxygen and prevent carbon dioxide from getting trapped in her lungs. Bubbles swirled around her and the water roared, deep and thunderous.

The pipe filled and they both worked at turning the wheel lock on the hatch below them. The steel groaned as it opened, and Alek dropped down first.

Amy checked her reader. The fifth bar was flashing. It was all happening faster than she’d expected.

Could they fix the valve and be back up in time?

She didn’t know.

Amy gritted her teeth and descended.

The water surge almost knocked her off her feet, but Alek grabbed her wrist and they both hung on to the lip of the connection and scanned ahead.

“Twenty yards to the left,” said Amy. “See anything?”

Alek shook his head. “Too murky.” His voice crackled in Amy’s earpiece.

The coolant water had a sickly greenish tinge and was filled with bubbles, reducing visibility down to only five or six yards. The water was dragging them toward the blockage valve, so they used the flow to their advantage. But as Amy glided along the five-foot-wide pipe, the whole thing shook, and the metal groaned and buckled. Kinks appeared in the steel surface, and the weak spots, the joints between pipe sections, were giving way.

“Watch out,” Amy warned. She braced herself against the wall. “Look ahead.”

They had reached the broken valve.

The gate valve was simply a circular steel plate, damaged by the sabotage, that was hinged along its center. The plate controlled flow, opening and shutting depending on the needs of the system. But the system needed it open right now, to help reduce the temperature buildup in the core. Now only a sliver of the edge had turned, forcing the water to tear through that gap at high velocity.

Three feet in front of the plate, fixed to a control mechanism in the side of the pipe, was a steel rod. It had been bent out of shape and needed to be eased back into position if the plate was to be opened, and kept open.

“I’ll push the plate, you move the rod,” said Alek. He tapped his reader. “And we need to be quick.”

Half the bars were glowing. They were heading into the red zone.

Amy’s headset crackled and Dr. Lin came on. “The pressure in the reactor core has hit a hundred and fifty percent. The shielding’s going to rupture if you don’t get that flow going right now.”

Amy gripped the rod. “Ready!”

Alek pushed the side of the plate, forcing it to turn on its axis. The steel didn’t want to move—the explosion had shifted it out of position and its edge was twisted, jagged metal.

The first red bar started flashing. They were into the last two minutes.

Amy pulled, feeling the rod shift ever so slightly.

But if it was going to move a little, she could make it move the whole way.

“On the count of three, Alek!” she shouted. She braced herself against the side of the pipe wall, spreading her feet out to avoid being swept away. “One! Two!” She flexed her fingers and got the best grip she could. “Three!”

Alek roared as he pushed and Amy heaved at the rod, pulling until her arms trembled with pain. “Come … on … ”

The water flow increased as the gate began to open. It pushed Amy, trying to drag her down the pipe. The rod was sliding back into the locking mechanism. Only another few inches …

Amy fell forward as the rod slipped back into place. The water gushed over her but she held on even as her feet were lifted up from under her so she dangled like a fish on a line.

“You’ve done it!” yelled Dr. Lin. “Now hurry back and get out!”

“Come on, Alek!” shouted Amy, more relieved than she’d ever been.

“Cahill … ”

Amy turned.

Alek was hanging on to the edge of the plate, now fully open. He was slipping in the high flow. Amy’s headlight caught the hard grimace on his face as he clung on.

Amy reached out, one hand hanging on to the rod, the other stretched out toward Alek. “Grab it!”

She saw the bars on his arm. Nine flashed.

“Just get out!” he yelled.

“Give me your hand!”

He snarled, and Amy saw his arms quiver with the strain. Then his palm slapped into hers and they locked fingers.

Together, weights combined, they crawled against the flow, heads bowed as the water beat upon them.

Dr. Lin’s voice broke through on Amy’s headset. “There’s an emergency hatch another six feet ahead.”

Amy peered forward and saw the circular panel. Too tired to speak, she dragged herself to it and twisted the steel plate open.

The maintenance hatch fell open and the water rushed out of this fresh hole. The pair of them tumbled out, and Amy crashed onto bare concrete, gasping with total exhaustion.

They were in a second maintenance room, smaller, with a watertight door ahead. With body-shaking relief, Amy closed the door behind them.

She sank down, resting her head on her knees, and began trembling. Uncontrollably. The alarm on her reader continued beeping, but it sounded far away; all she heard was her blood pounding in her ears, her heart throbbing within her wall of ribs.

The fear consumed her; the terror she’d been fighting now rose up and swamped her, body and soul.

How could anyone have planned something so evil?

Alek groaned and blinked. He pulled off his mask and looked around, dazed. He frowned. “You saved me? Why?”

Amy laughed weakly. “I must have had a reason, but I can’t think of it right now.”

Alek stood up, but Amy spotted the twist of agony. He peeled off his sealed suit.

Amy stopped him. “What’s that?”

The sleeve was torn and blood dripped from a tear along Alek’s arm. He looked at it and dismissed it. “I must have caught it on the edge of the plate. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. Dr. Lin warned us about the suits. They were the only things protecting—”

“It’s nothing,” Alek insisted. “You have my thanks, and for that I give you a parting gift. I know what Nathaniel is planning next.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “It’s not over?”

“Go to Attleboro. He has invited all his allies there to celebrate his victory, to reestablish the Cahill organization, to decide its future. I was asked to attend. He said he had a reward for us.”

Amy’s mind raced. “I’m guessing it’s not flowers and candy.”

Alek smiled. “No. Now I suspect he intends to kill us all.”

“A final double cross.”

So Nathaniel didn’t just want to destroy his rivals—he intended to destroy his allies, too. She thought about Vikram, Magnus, Melinda, and the others who’d all thrown their lot in with the Outcast, hoping for a piece of his empire, never realizing he wanted to rule alone.

“When’s this gathering?” she asked, her thumb on her cell keyboard.

“Two days from now.”

Ian and Cara. They were the closest. If they were in Kiev today, a twelve-hour flight and some traveling would get them to Attleboro the day of the assassination. It would be close, but she wasn’t going to let Nathaniel commit mass murder, even on her enemies.

Amy didn’t move. “What are you going to do?”

Alek gazed at his hands. He balled them into fists. “Go visit Nathaniel Hartford.”

That sounded as if it was going to end violently, for him or Nathaniel.

“Take me with you. He has Dan.”

Alek scowled. “I do not chaperone children. And my business with Nathaniel promises to be bloody. Now go before I change my mind.”

Amy stubbornly stayed exactly where she was. “Take me with you. You need me.”

Alek arched an eyebrow. “Oh, and how do you imagine you might be of any help to me?”

“You needed me in that pipe.”

Alek looked at her as if he was measuring her will to do what was necessary. “Very well. We need to move quickly, and we have a long way to go. I have some old friends within the Chinese government. They can arrange transportation for us.”

“But what about my friends? Jonah and Ham?”

“The Tomas I shot?”

Amy froze.

Alek Spasky was a cold-blooded killer. He showed no remorse at having almost killed Ham. No embarrassment.

Then again, Grace had done similar things, hadn’t she? She’d ordered deaths, then still had time for tea afterward. Amy thought back to birthday parties her grandmother had thrown for her and her brother. Then the long silent times when she’d be in her study, door closed and talking in whispers. Ruling the Cahills and being their silver-haired grandmother.

Was Alek really any different?

Was he just another creation of the Cahills? An unpleasant necessity?

_He wants revenge on Nathaniel. And I’m just playing along._

“Where are we going?” Amy asked.

“Alaska. Nathaniel has built a new research facility there.”

Amy’s heart skipped a beat. “What sort of facility?”

“You are afraid for your brother?”

Amy could only nod. Fear had taken her voice.

Alek’s face was grim. “You should be.”

It had been overwhelming, and they’d needed the whole flight to make sense of it and plan their next step. Which was to follow the lead given to them by Alek Spasky, who’d warned them that Nathaniel was planning to kill off all his allies tonight, at the celebratory party in Attleboro.

“You’re not like other boys, are you?” She snapped her fingers. “The catering! What if he’s poisoned one of the dishes? Amy said Alek had warned her that Nathaniel was studying toxins.”

The steady, constant drone of the helicopter made her drowsy. That, and the fact she’d not slept since … when? Ages ago.

Getting out had been harder than expected. After the near disaster with the Shanghai reactor, the whole place had been on lockdown. Word must have gotten out it was an act of sabotage, so the government had come down hard, suspecting terrorism.

They’d not been able to risk flying out of Shanghai, so they had paid off a truck driver to smuggle them out of the city, and that had cost them time. They’d found a small regional airport, then swapped flights in Hong Kong, another frustrating day not knowing what was happening to Dan. Now Amy was close, but dreaded the lost time, time Dan had been left at the mercy of a man willing to blow up a city.

_Please don’t let me be too late._

Alek pointed to a ridge ahead. “There’s the valley. We’ll have to land on this side and cross over on foot if we’re to avoid being spotted.”

“Just as long as we get Dan.”

The helicopter banked to the left and descended, so within a minute they were skimming over the treetops. Alek kept the course pond-smooth, riding the air as lightly as a feather. “There.”

It was a clearing, actually a patch of snowy ground beside a frozen river. Amy spotted a couple of outbuildings and a narrow dirt track disappearinginto the forest.

“It’s an old hunting lodge,” said Alek. “No one uses it anymore.”

The engine whined as he shifted up a gear and hovered over the center of the clearing. Clouds of snow swirled in the vortex of the rotor blades, but Amy could see Alek was an expert at this. The helicopter touched down with perfect precision.

Amy jumped out the moment the propellers stopped turning, her backpack on one shoulder. She wanted to get a move on.

Alek hopped out. He tossed his own pack into the patchy snow then, with much more care, then removed a second, longer bag.

“What’s in here?” Somehow Amy didn’t think it was a fishing rod.

Alek unzipped a few inches, revealing the dark steel of a barrel. “It’s my sniper rifle. A Mauser SR-93, but I had a gunsmith in Vienna make a few modifications. It’s good at—”

“We’re not taking it,” Amy declared.

“We’re here to stop Nathaniel. And a bullet does that very effectively.” Yes, Alek was right. Stopping Nathaniel Hartford had to be their priority, even before saving Dan. But it was hard to think like that. How could she separate the needs of the mission, ending the Outcast’s madness, with her personal desire to save her brother?

And as bad as Shanghai could have been, she knew that it was not Nathaniel’s endgame. There was more to come, worse to come.

“I don’t like guns. It makes killing the first option when it should be the last.” She waved at his jacket. “And that Walther PPK you have tucked under your armpit can stay here, too.”

He glowered, but relented. The pistol came out and he slammed it down on the pilot seat. “Satisfied? Perhaps you should tie both my hands behind my back also?”

_How did I end up here? Working with a KGB assassin?_

Amy was going to have to review her decision-making process when this was all over. “Let’s just get a move on,” she said.

Alek frowned as he gazed down the path. “Keep an eye on these trees. Nathaniel may have a patrol out.”

Amy turned to search. She couldn’t see anything.

Alek picked up his pack, and the pair headed down the path.

The hike was upward. The trees thinned as the route turned into ice and rock. Amy’s legs burned as they marched up the steep slope. Despite the cold, she was sweating heavily, and her pack felt twice as heavy as it had at the beginning.

Alek picked the route and Amy slogged behind. There was no talking— what did they have to say to each other? This was a partnership of necessity, not choice. Amy wasn’t interested in knowing anything more about him.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder.

This man had loved, once. He’d had a wife and she’d filled his heart. The Spaskys were a strange family. Cold-hearted killers, yet with a seed of self-sacrifice, even heroism, buried deep down. Alek’s sister had died saving Amy, and even now Amy didn’t understand why.

Alek was carved of hard edges and brutal will. There was no softness in the clifflike angles of his cheeks or joy in the flinty hardness of his gray eyes.

But something was wrong. He was more gaunt that before. The few days they’d traveled together he’d lost weight and his skin, pale anyway, was a jaundiced yellow. And this hike had him wheezing.

“Let me carry that,” said Amy, pointing at his backpack. “Just for a while.”

Alek glared at her. “I’m fine.”

He was anything but fine.

The suit had torn, and he’d been cut while in the radioactive waters. That radiation was now in his blood, killing him from the inside.

How long did he have?

It was dusk and the sky bled red and purple when Alek paused at the top of the ridge. “There.”

Amy forced herself up the last few yards.

The ridge now dropped down into a valley. The conifers were as dense as ever, but the bottom of the valley was dominated by a vast geo-dome of shimmering pearl.

“It’s called the Hive,” said Alek. “That’s where we’ll find Nathaniel and your brother.”

It had to be half a mile in diameter, and there were smaller domes nestled around it. The surface was made of huge hexagonal panels; Amy could see why it had been named the Hive. There were more basic concrete outbuildings as well as rows of greenhouses.

Alek shoved Amy off her feet.

“Hey!”

He ducked down beside her and put his finger to his lips.

There was nothing, then she saw a figure emerge from the trees, some fifty yards down.

The man wore a heavy parka and winter camo, and carried an assault rifle. There was a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck and in his webbing he carried spare magazines and a walkie-talkie. He began moving toward them, eyes searching the path ahead.

_He’s going to see our footprints._

It was dark, but was it dark enough?

The guy looked serious, not some rent-a-goon, but a real professional. The man lowered his rifle and thumbed off the safety.

He pointed it at the bush where Amy was crouching.

“Come out, and hands where I can see them,” the man demanded.

Where was Alek? He’d been right next to her.

Amy didn’t move.

A three-round burst into the tree beside her jolted her into action. Amy stood, hands raised. “Don’t shoot.”

“Closer.”

“I was out hiking. I got lost. I didn’t know this was private property. Look, I’ll just turn around and head back.”

“Stay exactly where you are.” Rifle held with one hand, he reached for his walkie-talkie.

That’s when Amy saw Alek. He emerged a yard or two from behind the man and raised a pistol, silencer fixed, to the back of the man’s bare head.

“No!” Amy screamed.

The soldier spun, knocking the aim wide. It blew off a piece of bark, inches from Amy’s face.

Amy had trained in martial arts, and trained hard.

But she’d never seen anything like this.

Alek dropped his pistol and swept his hand across the man’s windpipe, and would have crushed it but for the soldier blocking it with the rifle. He reacted by slamming the butt into Alek’s gut. Alek dropped with a grunt but dragged the man down with him.

Even rolling in the snow, their assault on each other was unrelenting. Knee strikes, elbow slams, even a head butt. The soldier went for a dagger strapped to his thigh, but Alek knotted the rifle strap around his neck.

The man’s face reddened. He clawed behind him, trying to tear at Alek’s eyes, but Alek steadily tightened the strap.

The struggle stopped and the man went limp.

Alek collapsed into the snow, exhausted.

How long had that taken? Seconds?

Seconds of action, after a lifetime of training.

Alek rolled onto his back, gasping. The fight had exhausted him.

Amy reached out to help him up but he brushed her hand away. “I can get up myself.”

“Is he dead?” asked Amy.

“No. Unconscious for a few hours.” Alek collected his pistol and the man’s submachine gun. Amy saw his hand tremble as he brushed the snow off and inspected it for damage. “Heckler and Koch MP5. That’ll do very nicely.”

“I said no guns.” Alek must have grabbed his pistol when he’d told her to check the trees. The oldest trick in the book and she’d fallen for it.

“You’re welcome to try to take it off me.”

That sounded like a really bad idea. Amy checked the man in the snow and picked up a pulse. “We’ll gag him and tie him up.” She took his radio and his security pass.

Alek frisked the man thoroughly, taking his knife and a set of car keys, anything he might use to cut himself free. He swapped his jacket for the man’s parka and then tied him up with the shoulder strap of the SMG and gagged him with his own woolen hat.

They walked on and reached the perimeter fence an hour after dark. Floodlights covered the ten yards or so of clear ground from the edge of the trees to the fence itself, some twenty feet high and topped with razor wire.

“We could dig under it,” Amy suggested.

“The fence will be buried a meter into the earth to prevent exactly that.”

“Then how do we get in?”

Alek smiled. “That all depends on how much you trust me.” He lifted the parka hood so it covered his face and pointed the H&K at her.

Alek shoved Amy before him, and she stumbled into the patch of floodlit ground in front of the gate.

There was a small control room on the inside of the gate. A soldier, wearing the same style parka as Alek, walked out with a coffee mug and a flashlight, which he shone at Amy. “What have you got?”

“A stray hiker,” said Alek, doing a remarkably good American accent. “Says she got lost looking for the campsite.”

“This time of year?” said the soldier, shaking his head. “Stupid kid. Just slot her and dump her in the woods. The wolves will take care of the rest.”

Amy gulped. Suddenly, the fear was real. Now would be a perfect time for Alek to betray her.

“She wouldn’t have come out here alone,” Alek replied. “Let’s bring her in and find out where her friends might be.”

The soldier hesitated, then nodded to his companion in the control room. The gates rolled open.

Alek rubbed his hands. “That coffee fresh?”

“Pot’s just boiled. Help yourself.”

The control room was steam-room hot compared to the outside. Alek poured himself a coffee while Amy stood in the corner, pretending to be too terrified to speak, which wasn’t far from the truth.

The room was lit by the glow of six surveillance screens constantly flicking from one camera to another, watching all points along the perimeter. They’d have been spotted the moment they’d tried to get over the fence. Alek’s bluff seemed to be working.

“No one else reported finding hikers, have they?” asked Alek. “They might be in lockup already.”

The soldier at the screen shook his head. “The only person in lockup is that kid the boss brought in.”

Amy’s heart jumped. _Dan!_

The soldier laughed. “But he won’t be bothering nobody. Not after what’s been done to him.”

“What have you done?” Amy grabbed the man and hauled him out of his chair. “What have you done to Dan?”

Alek cursed and smashed his mug into the second man’s head. He went down without a fuss.

The man Amy held fumbled for his holster but Amy, rage fueling her, slammed him against the wall, hard enough to rattle his brain. “Tell me!”

Alek held his pistol against the man’s temple. “I would. And I’d hurry.”

The soldier looked from one to the other, not sure who was the most frightening, the girl with the blazing eyes or the man with the cold ones.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” snarled Amy, her fists quivering with barely suppressed rage. “What have you done with my brother?”

Then Dan saw who it was.

Alek Spasky.

He carried a submachine gun and was scanning left and right.

Dan trembled. The rage beat hard in his chest. This guy had murdered Amy.

All that he’d been through, he’d never felt such pure, consuming hate. He wanted to roar, scream out the anger seething through him. But that would give Alek the shot.

Dan tightened his grip on the length of pipe.

There was someone else exploring, just as quietly and just as cautiously, but Dan didn’t see or care.

He slid a few inches forward. The bush rustled, but the Russian didn’t notice.

They were level, Dan hidden, Alek’s grip firmly on his weapon.

_I’ll have one chance. One chance to take him out._

_Wait. Wait._

His hands sweated badly, and he was gripping the steel pipe so hard his fingers ached.

Alek took a step past him and Dan moved. He moved slowly, one step carefully down before the next.

Tears threatened to blind him. He couldn’t help thinking about Amy. She’d died at the hands of this psychopath, alone and without her brother. After all the dangers they’d faced together, it had ended like this.

Dan gritted his teeth.

Nothing would bring her back, but Alek would never hurt anyone ever again.

He raised his pipe.

It must have been his breath, or the rustle of his clothing, but Alek stiffened. He turned.

Their eyes met and Dan swung.

Alek tried to block the attack, but Dan’s blow was filled with fury and caught Alek across the jaw. He fell and Dan hit him again, just to be sure.

The ex-assassin lay stunned, bleeding, on the floor.

Dan picked up Alek’s submachine gun.

Alek groaned, his eyelids fluttering as he fought off unconsciousness. “Boy, you don’t understand—”

Dan pushed the barrel into Alek’s forehead. “Shut your mouth.”

Dan rested his finger against the trigger. All it needed was a gentle squeeze.

Amy had been so scared, staring at him. She’d wanted to tell him something, he’d sensed it, but he had no time, no choice. She was gone now, and there’d been so much to say. He’d thought he’d have a lifetime to tell her.

_Just a squeeze._

But his finger wouldn’t move that fateful distance. Enough to activate the hammer that would strike the cartridge that would spark an explosion that would generate a sudden expansion of gas that, constrained within the narrow steel barrel, would force a projectile at high velocity the foot and a half through and end a person’s life, extinguishing all he was, and would be.

All that, from just a mere squeeze.

What sort of man would he become if he pulled this trigger?

Would it be one Amy would have wanted him to be?

“Dan!”

He shook his head. He could hear her. It was as if she were right beside him.

“Dan!”

Dan bit his lip. She sounded so real.…

It was as if she was trying to tell him something.

“Please don’t kill Alek. We need him.”

Dan turned around, sure he was going insane.

Amy stood behind him, smiling. “Missed you, dweeb.”

Dan dropped the gun and rushed into his sister’s arms.

Alek pushed forward and struck the door with the gun. The reinforced glass shook but didn’t break—there wasn’t even a scratch. “Stand back, I’m going to shoot.”

A bee settled on Amy’s arm. She screamed and shook it off. But as she stared behind her, she saw they were covering the flowers and other plants. The air buzzed, thick with the insects.

The lights in the observation balcony flickered, then brightened. It wasn’t empty anymore.

Nathaniel stood right up against the glass, smiling broadly. Three of his guards stood respectfully behind him. Nathaniel tapped a microphone pinned to his collar. Hidden speakers within the Hive crackled.

“I wouldn’t waste your bullets,” said Nathaniel. “The glass is quite invulnerable to mere gunfire.”

Alek snarled and raised his submachine gun.

Bullets burst across the glass window of the observation deck. The sound was deafening as he fired a few bursts into it. Bullets ricocheted off, splintering a tree and splashing into the feeding ponds.

Nathaniel stood there, unmoved and safe. “Told you.”

Alek tossed the gun away. “No harm in trying.”

Sweat ran from Amy’s brow and down her back. It had to be hitting a hundred.

Another bee landed on her, this time on her neck. She felt its legs creep across her bare skin. “Dan … ”

“Don’t move, sis.” Dan carefully flicked it off.

Nathaniel leaned onto the glass, watching eagerly. “All it takes is a single sting.”

“Don’t move,” Alek warned, as more of the bees settled onto Amy, Dan, and the Russian, too. “If you don’t agitate them, they won’t sting you.”

Amy fought the panic rising in her chest. Her breath was coming in rapid, panicky gasps. Bees crawled over her. They crept over her arms, along her neck, her head; one even searched along the edge of her ear. There was another, prodding her lips.

Dan stood there, body stiff, as the bees covered him like a coat. He had his eyes closed and there was one on his eyelid. His hands were clenched into tense fists and he couldn’t believe how controlled he was.

Amy itched everywhere; it was agony not to move.

With one eye, she peered at the deck above her.

Perfectly sealed from the Hive, Nathaniel stood there, watching, waiting for the moment they’d move, twitch, give in, and then be stung.

A bee found a gap in her collar and was trying to creep down her back.

Alek was as covered as they were.

It was getting hard to breathe; the heat was rising and rising. Amy was suffocating.

Heat. That was it. The heat was waking the bees up. “Wait. There is a way to kill the bees. Or force them back to sleep. We need to drop the temperature.”

“We could let the snow in.” Dan gestured, slowly, with his thumb.

“There’s a control to the windows. Can you see the outer wall?”

“Yes.” She could see it and the snowy, wind-driven landscape beyond. There was a snowstorm blowing, not that she could feel it, trapped in this buzzing sauna. Amy turned her head ever so slowly. “There’s a winch.”

“The manual override,” confirmed Alek. “It’ll open up the windows and let the snow in. The bees will fall asleep and die.”

“It’s no good. You move and you’ll get stung. You’ll be dead in a minute.”

“A minute you’d better use wisely.” He smiled at her. “Good-bye, young Cahill.”

“No!”

Alek swept the bees off his face and ran. The swarm around him reacted angrily. He slapped his bare hand but Amy saw the bright scarlet stings.

“Stop him!” roared Nathaniel.

The guards hesitated. No one wanted to enter the death trap. Nathaniel glared at them. “I gave you an order!” He hit a control button and the door to the observation deck slid open. He thrust his cane at it. “Go and stop him!”

The window vents cracked open and icy wind blew in. Bees crowded above them, circling in a panic at the sudden cold.

“STOP HIM!” yelled Nathaniel, his voice booming through the speakers around them.

Alek cried out. Bee stings covered his bare face and hands, creating hideous swelling. He sank to the floor as the bees fled from the cold. But the guards had other ideas. They dropped their weapons and fled.

Dan shook himself as the bees flew off him. Snow was drifting in as the windows widened. He brushed insects off Amy. “You clear?”

“There’s one down the back of my shirt!”

“Where?” He turned her around. “Wait! I see something moving!”

“Then squash it!”

“What if it stings you?”

“Squash it, Dan!”

Dan slammed his palm against the middle of her back.

Amy stood, too terrified to move. Too terrified to breathe. Then she did. There was a yucky, sticky patch on her back, but no sting.

She ran to Alek.

He was still alive, but his breath pumped raggedly. His face was swollen, and yellow bile dripped from his mouth. His eyelids had puffed up so he was staring just through the slits. He was speaking, but she could barely hear him.

Alek took her hand. His grasp was weak and the skin feverishly hot.

“Alek … ”

There was nothing she could do but listen to his last words. Amy leaned closer.

Alek licked his lips. “Natalia … ”

It was his last word, spoken with his last breath.

She thought about Alek Spasky, now buried beside his beloved wife. He’d hunted them, put a gun to her head, and saved them.


End file.
